


Cinnamon Apples

by CytoSprout



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: A little world building... as a treat, Art, Bisexual Character, Bull - Freeform, Confessions, Dom/sub Undertones, Everything is consensual, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, German pet names, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Original Character(s), Pansexual Character, Smut, Trans Male Character, Weasel - Freeform, art included, gratuitous snark, vité has a little bit of a praise kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CytoSprout/pseuds/CytoSprout
Summary: Travis feels a presence in front of him. Then a hand on his chest, and suddenly a warm body is straddling his lap. Vité is on him, his hands grasping Travis’s horns, and his jaw locks in place in shock as he feels warm breath ghost his scalp. “To ruin me,” Vité gives a warm question, his voice soft, “is that what you want?”Travis chokes around the knot in his throat. The answer rips out of him without his permission out of pure desperation. “Yes.”___For months, Travis has been going to a massage therapist for his back injury. Vité is much more than he anticipated. Travis finds himself thinking about Vité even when he’s not around, which is not something that has happened to him before. It’s such a distraction that it‘s starting to interfere with his work. He has to deal with this—and fast.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Vité/Travis
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Tasting Spice

**Author's Note:**

> Important Side Note: Vité is a trans man written with femme-coded words about his genitalia. I am not trans, though I am non-binary and am trying my best to write a trans male character. I love Vité with all of my heart, and I’d never wish to do him disservice. I also do not know German, so that’s something. Take this with a grain of salt, because everything written is entirely self indulgent! Thank you so much if you give it a chance!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Cunnilingus, Thoughts of sexual violence, Travis discovers that Vité is trans

Of course he came back.

Travis promises to himself that he will finally put whatever this is to rest, so fucking help him. The bull convinces himself that this is the better option than bearing the brunt of Dewey’s unnerving tea talks. God knows he had to sit through a lot of them over his one-word-prompted brawling tendencies. His anger is easily lit, like a ticking time bomb left on its last second for far too long. 

But now, as Travis opens the door, he is not entirely sure this is a good idea. The tiny bell on the door tinkles a bit harder than necessary when one of his horns decides its lifelong career of slamming into ceiling fans isn’t enough. The person standing near the shelves behind the front counter cranes their head back to see the culprit. 

Ah. There he is. That motherfucker.

Vité stares at him, and the look of _something_ in his eyes is gone before Travis can pin down what it is. His gaze turns blank, and he gives no recognition as he turns back around and continues to organize. 

“I thought you said you weren’t coming back.”

Vité’s voice comes out gentle. The lack of emotion behind Vité’s words sends a wave of anger through his veins. If he knew even a little bit of what the weasel was actually feeling, maybe he could decipher what to do or what to say. But Vité is a million different puzzle pieces trying to be a person. When Travis thinks he’s finally gotten the pieces to fit, one line or action from Vité is like a hammer decimating the entire image.

Even if he somehow manages to force the pieces together in a sad attempt at a final product, he will still be illiterate as he is right now.

Travis has never been able to hold a conversation for more than a minute. He isn’t meant for small talk. Honestly he is better at handling mild disagreements with his fists rather than a pitiful attempt at speech. There was never any fun in it for him or the people around him.

But now here he is. For the first time, he is going to try.

Vité is pointedly not looking at Travis, keeping his back turned as he rubs some sort of viscous liquid on his hands. Lotion, most likely. Travis has gotten used to the cinnamon apple smell—catching himself craving it when he was working and stressed. As much as he hates to admit the scent calms him (he even tried to look up what brand it was online but somehow never seemed to find it, maybe it is homemade), it does nothing to quell the uncontrollable anger wanting to burst from his chest. A whirlwind rages inside his lungs, _burning and violent_ , and Travis can barely contain it. He wants to say so much. He wants to hold Vité but also strangle him until his neck bruises and turns beautiful colors under his fingertips. He wants to kiss Vité until his lips are swollen but also pin him to the ground under his weight and bite him until he bleeds. Travis wants to wreck that beautiful façade until Vité is writhing under him, singing wonderful sounds that contradict everything Vité has given him up until this point.

The weasel turns, a blank expression filling Travis’s gaze. There is a slight crook in Vité’s eyebrow, one that Travis is sure a stranger wouldn’t be able to catch. Vité seems confused about his silence. Travis says nothing, only walks past and heads to the room that fills his mind with recent experiences. 

He hears soft footsteps behind him, letting Travis know Vité is following close behind. Travis tries not to let that excite him.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Travis chokes under the tension in the room and the pure _want_ crushing his limbs. He hungers to ruin the man behind him until he can’t speak in that tone ever again, to look at him like that ever again—but Travis came here to _talk_. So that’s what he is going to do.

Travis sits down at the table, not bothering to lie down. Vité does not question this, but lathers more lotion on his hands anyway. Vité is wearing a loose tank top today. It is a simple color with no designs, though it shows Vité’s lack of body weight in a startling display. Travis can see his spine under the thin cloth hanging from his back. As Travis observes him, he looks down and notices Vité’s tail moving in a fluid, calm motion. He wants to roughly grab it and tug it to control him as he pleases. He wants to see if that would change his expression. He wants to run his hands under Vité’s shirt and feel the intimate drag of his ribs across his fingers. Would they feel small? Breakable?

“I know you like being silent, but this is the first time you’ve stared at me this long.”

Travis drags his gaze from Vité’s chest to his eyes. Vité is looking at him with a sort of emotion Travis has never seen before. Fear, maybe? Travis tries to relax his fists. “I owe you no explanation.”

Vité is silent, the split second of whatever was on his face gone. Travis holds back a frustrated snarl. “Of course not. I suppose we won’t talk about the last time you came here, either?”

“ _Nein_.”

He hums in faux disappointment. “I didn’t expect any different.”

Listen to him, so fucking smug. Travis immediately imagines silencing Vité by stuffing his mouth to the brim with his— “I didn’t come here today for a massage, _betrüger._ ”

Vité glosses over his given pet name, and instead raises his brows. “Then why did you come here? It couldn’t have been just to speak with me.”

Travis’s silence fills the room. 

“...Really?”

There’s a sound of a bottle being placed on a table and a few soft thumps of footsteps before Travis spots Vité’s feet in front of him. He looks up to see Vité leaning back against the door as if to trap him, his strong arms crossed, his expression carefully stoic. The smell of Vité’s lotion fills his nostrils, and his shoulders instinctively lessen their tension just a fraction. Vité stays silent, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Regretting this.” Travis mutters under his breath, forcing a hand through his hair. He inhales and sighs long and low. He then catches Vité’s eyes again, and tries to keep his gaze sharp and intimidating. “My mind at work, it has… let us say, become distant. My boss will fire me, I know, if I do not fix whatever this is. And it—it is you.”

Vité gives him a patient stare, but there is a bit of curiosity in his expression.

“I…” Tavis groans. “ _Scheiße,_ this is hard to talk about. Feelings, I don’t…” This is hell. He tries again. “You are in my head, every day. I cannot work, you are always there, you’re hands, they.” He swallows. “They stay.” Travis motions to his back. “Phantom. Always there.”

The weasel’s posture slumps a bit, his expression blank.

“The scent, every time I come and I go, I miss it. The cinnamon, the apples, it follows me too. It reminds me of you.” Travis stares at his feet. “It relaxes me. Nothing has ever relaxed me. You relax me, but also…” He fists his hair tightly, hoping to hide his expression. “...I despise you.”

Travis doesn’t know what kind of face Vité is making. It would be torture to see. It’s torture not to.

“Every time I see your face I want to ruin it.” Travis’s grip on his hair tightens. “You are… I never know what you’re thinking, you are always so… I want to ruin that expression. I want to destroy your unfeeling face, unfeeling words. I want to rip you apart.”

Vité is silent, and Travis is babbling now, he knows he is—

“ _Betrüger_.” He hisses out in a whisper. “You push me, you tease, but I am not stupid. You like to get a rise out of me. My words are nothing, they are nonsense. I’m not silver tongued like you, I can’t… I can only—“ He bites his lip to stop any more from spilling. Travis feels the pain in his scalp now, his nails digging into his skin. He releases his hair and exhales sharply. _I can only hurt,_ he doesn’t say. His shaking hands ball into fists on his lap. “You’ve buried your fingers in and they won’t leave.”

The lack of sound coming from Vité is overwhelming, but Travis keeps his gaze on the floor. He can’t look at him. He just can’t. He feels more vulnerable than he is comfortable with, and it would be excruciating to look him in the eye.

Travis feels a presence in front of him. Then a hand on his chest, and suddenly a warm body is straddling his lap. Vité is on him, his hands grasping Travis’s horns, and his jaw locks in place in shock as he feels warm breath ghost his scalp. “To ruin me,” Vité gives a warm question, his voice soft, “is that what you want?”

Travis chokes around the knot in his throat. The answer rips out of him without his permission out of pure desperation. “ ** _Yes_**.”

He _feels_ the shiver wrack Vité’s body, and Vité lets out a wavering sigh. Did he respond like this earlier, and Travis just didn’t see? He hates himself for it, he _missed_ it, he missed every expression. Travis looks up and drinks in Vité’s face. His eyes are blown wider than he’s ever seen, his mouth slack and his face flushed lightly. To Travis’s utmost surprise, Vité gives him a slight grin. 

“You’ve buried your fingers too.” Vité murmurs and points to his throat. “In here.”

Travis stops breathing. Then, Vité tugs on his horns and dives in, tasting Travis for the first time.

It tastes just like Travis thought. Cinnamon apples.

Travis can’t help the groan that slips out. He can still feel Vité’s curved grin against his mouth, and it’s _addictive_. His hands uncurl and fasten around Vité’s hips, and Travis startles. They’re truly bony. Sharp. The sight is nothing compared to how they actually feel. He circles his thumbs around them, pressing in roughly to feel the bones, and Vité, dear god, arches his hips closer as if wanting, begging. Travis needs to feel his torso _right now_ or he’s going to tear the table apart. 

His hands quickly slide under Vité’s shirt, and his fingers meet their mark. Vité shudders at the sensation, his warm breath covering Travis’s mouth. Travis traces his ribs, committing every curve to memory. Vité doesn’t seem to mind, he pushes himself more into Travis’s hands and gives a light moan—one that goes straight to Travis’s groin. Vité deepens the kiss, licking into his mouth while keeping Travis’s horns in place. Travis can do nothing but give back, his tongue meeting Vité’s. It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before. He wants more.

Travis’s hands wander up to Vité’s chest, and Vité pauses before breaking the kiss. Before he can protest, Vité quickly removes his shirt and flings it to the side, then kisses him again—hungry. Travis moans in relief, one of his hands traveling to map Vité’s spine while the other thumbs where a nipple should be. Travis’s thumb meets, not a nipple, but scarred skin. At the moment he doesn’t question why. The kiss is overwhelming, and Vité’s spine is curved in the most artistic way. His fingers run along the knobs, his calluses meeting divots in between the bones to massage. Vité gives an appreciative hum into Travis’s mouth, and fuck if Travis isn’t going to try to drag that out of him again. He finds Vité’s lower back and digs his fingers in, and Vité is having a hard time arching into both of his hands. Noticing this, Travis gives a low chuckle, and he’s pleased to feel the responding shiver in Vité’s limbs. 

“You laughed,” Vité murmurs on Travis’s lips, slight surprise in his voice.

“Yes. You are cute.” Travis’s voice is low. It’s an admission he never wanted to say out loud, but seeing Vité’s response is too important. Vité’s cheeks flush _more,_ and Travis finds himself grinning smugly. “See?” He whispers, reaching a hand up to Vité’s cheek to feel the heat underneath. Vité blinks. “I ruin you.”

Vité flinches as his tail lashes behind him, and Travis wants to laugh, but holds it and pulls him in to kiss again. Vité complies easily, though there is an undercurrent of irritation now. Travis is proud of himself to have even noticed. His teeth catch against Travis’s lower lip, pulling, showing a bit of dominance. He tugs Vité’s hips closer to his and greedily drinks up Vité’s responding frustrated whimper. The friction is nicer than he thought as he thrusts up once. Twice. Three times. Travis swallows both his and Vités groans as he continues to guide their hips together, grinding relentlessly against one another. 

Travis does not feel a bulge in Vité’s pants and it is hard to think about why that is, but regardless, Vité is panting into his mouth. He still feels the heat, the pressure. That’s all they both need. Travis’s hand slides from Vité’s cheek to his throat, and Travis pushes his thumb into Vité’s pulse. He swears it jumps higher. His nails dig into the back of Vité’s neck as he gives a particularly hard thrust up, and Vité _whines._ In response, Travis sucks Vité’s tongue to see if he can make that noise again.

He can and does. 

Pride feels his chest. He can do this. He can make Vité fall apart. _Him_. He can ruin Vité forever if he wants to. Vité is pliant in his hands, shaking and wanting, not powerless but letting Travis do what he pleases. Travis is still unsure how this is happening, but he’s not going to waste his chance. He traces the band of Vité’s leggings as they grind together, and Vité’s grip falls off of one horn and onto Travis’s shoulder. Vité’s nails dig into his skin, harsh, and Travis feels his own grip tighten around him. This is heaven and hell at the same time, all wrapped up in a present that takes the form of an infuriatingly beautiful weasel.

When Travis slips his hand down Vité’s pants to grind his heel against the front of his boxer briefs, he notices again how there’s nothing there, and decides to go lower. That’s when he feels the wet heat of Vité’s arousal. Vité moans brokenly, pushing himself into Travis’s fingers—and how can Travis deny him? He presses his digits deeper into the fabric, mapping the shape of folds underneath, making sure to rub along the creases. Vité gasps into the kiss, chanting soft, barely audible praises, but Travis can feel the shape of the cut off words in his mouth, on his lips.

Travis breaks off the kiss to make sure. “Like this, _liebe?_ ” He breathes, watching Vité’s face.

“Yes,” Vité shudders in his lap, and Travis can feel his legs shaking, “yesyes there—“ 

He gives a pathetic sounding whimper as Travis pulls his hand away. “No.“ The plea is so quiet, he’s not sure if it was real, but Travis continues anyway and pulls down Vité’s pants and boxers. Vité exhales sharply at the exposure. 

“Take them all the way off.” Travis says, his voice hoarse with lust. 

The weasel doesn’t hesitate, lifting off of him a moment (still hovering over him, no one could pry Vité off of him right now), and weakly shucking his remaining clothing off. 

Travis was questioning, but after seeing Vité in his full glory, it is confirmed. Travis’s eyes and fingers trace the opposite scars running across Vité’s chest, his nipples practically nonexistent from them, more likely deformed. As Vité is settling back into his lap, Travis looks down towards—yeah that’s a cunt.

“Is this—“ Vité suddenly speaks up. “Is this alright? No problems?”

Travis swallows, looking into Vité’s soft black eyes. “Yes, no problems.”

A trace of relief flashes in Vité’s gaze. “Good.” 

Vité then grabs Travis and drags him in for another kiss. Travis doesn’t hesitate, he runs his hands down Vité’s chest and to his flat stomach. He never wants to stop touching Vité. He wants to commit everything to memory, the noises he makes, the shape of his ribs, the color that dusts his cheeks. He never wants to forget. 

“C’mon,” Vité says, a slight, barely noticeable whine to his voice that makes Travis’s toes tingle, “touch me.“

“Patience.” He murmurs, kissing the side of Vité’s mouth as he presses his fingers into the hollow divots of Vité’s hips. Vité arches at his voice and against his digits, a noise cut off in his throat. 

Vité curses silently as Travis explores the shape of his thighs. Travis finds he’s enjoying mapping out every part of Vité possible, and when he intentionally brushes his palms towards Vité’s inner thighs, Vité lets out an irritated grunt. Travis tries not to find every change in Vité’s composure a gift, but it’s hard when Vité had deprived him so much before. He’ll make sure Vité falls apart in every way possible. He needs to take this slow.

Vité apparently has other ideas. Every time Travis nears what Vité wants him to touch, he slides back and massages different parts of his body. On the third take, Vité hisses and grabs one of Travis’s wrists to pull it towards his heat. Travis barely holds back, a few centimeters away. Vité lets out an airy growl of frustration and bites at Travis’s jaw in retaliation. Travis tries not to shudder and fails miserably.

“ _Was habe ich gesagt?_ ” Travis husks under his breath, harsh, and pins both of Vité’s wrists against his back with one hand, while holding him still by his throat in the other. He inhales sharply and swallows, and Travis feels the movement in his hand. Travis glares hard at Vité, keeping his grip tight. “You will keep still for me, _ja_?”

Vité squirms and glares back, defiant. His cheeks are flushed, betraying his slight scowl. 

Travis hisses, his brows tight. “ _Betrüger._ ” He yanks back Vité’s wrists and thrusts up. His jeans drag and press against Vité’s exposed folds, causing him to let out a choked gasp. Vité’s chin tucks against Travis’s hand to try and look down, but Travis does it again, softer this time, which forces him to look up. “If you behave, it will be better for you.” Travis’s accent is more noticeable now, and he’s sure Vité has noticed. Every time he speaks Vité becomes a little more wound up. He nods, and Travis’s expression turns a fraction softer. “ _Gut_.”

The bull looks down at the table. Vité follows his gaze, unsure, then is promptly laid on his back with Travis looming over him. Travis notices the flush appearing down Vité’s neck and grins smugly. Travis lifts his hand from Vité’s neck and instead trails it down Vité’s torso once more, pleased when Vité arches into his touch. 

“Your legs.” Travis says, and Vité immediately spreads them wider. Travis lets out a pleased hum and looks down at the way he is spread, the way Vité’s cunt drips and pleads for him. “ _Gut_. Very good, _liebe_.”

He hears Vité’s soft whimper as he tilts his head back against the table. So pliant under him, so good. Travis needs to give him a gift. As his tongue suddenly hits Vité’s chest, Vité gasps aloud and tries to arch up, only to be denied by Travis holding his hips down. 

“Be still.” He commands again, giving Vité’s right scar where his nipple should be a rough lick. 

Vité shivers, not from the pleasure Travis thinks, but rather from him even getting near the scars. Travis licks again and digs his fingers into Vité’s hip to keep him still. His tongue travels from the scars, to his navel, to his belly. Vité gives a harsh whine when Travis’s tongue touches right above where Vité really wants it to be.

Travis looks up at him. “Will you be good? Still?” 

Vité nods quickly, biting his lip. 

“Good.”

Travis releases Vité’s hip and wrists, and drags them down Vité’s thighs instead. Vité keeps his hands where they are and struggles not to move as Travis nibbles the places where his hip bones jut out. Travis can smell him now—it’s a salty sweet smell he can’t wait to taste. He wants to _devour_ him. Vité’s legs wrap around Travis out of instinct as Travis leads lower with his mouth. His breath ghosts over him now, and Vité trembles at the sensation. 

Travis sighs for effect. “Keep being good and do not move. If you move I will stop.”

“Mmn.” 

He takes it as a yes and spreads Vité’s folds wider with his fingers. One of Vité’s legs twitch. This will be fun. As his tongue finally hits Vité’s heat, Vité tenses and gives a full body shudder. _Yes_. He tastes _incredible_. Travis wants to unravel him at the seams, untying more and more until he’s putty in Travis’s hands. He wants to hear Vité moan louder, longer—he wants to hear all sorts of sounds Vité has never made in his life, and hell if he wasn’t going to try. He dips his tongue in again, light, testing, and Vité makes a cut-off noise that ends in his throat. No, no, he huffs and Vité jolts. He needs to hear him. Travis remembers Vité’s reaction to his hands earlier, and presses his thumbs into Vité’s hips. The soft moan afterward is better than before. 

He continues to try and pull more noises from Vité’s chords, pushing his tongue deep and running it against the length of his folds. When he looks up, he observes Vité’s every change, every emotion that crosses his face. Vité’s chest rises and falls rapidly, and his wrists strain to stay in the same place. Vité is still being obedient, which is surprising considering his hidden sassy behavior Travis discovered in their conversations. 

Travis pulls away, and Vité whimpers in disappointment. “You are being so good, _mein schatz_. Tell me how to make this better for you.”

Vité quivers at his praise, and Travis’s chest fills with a bubbly pride. He keeps one hand on Vité’s hip while he uses the other to dip into his slick, spreading it up to start rubbing slow circles against his clit. Vité chokes out a startled moan and Travis actually _feels_ the effort Vité is doing to not push into the motion. 

“That—that’s—“ Vité’s voice is weak in a way Travis wants to record for later. “Please, keep doing that.”

Vité’s eyes are like saucers as they dazedly stare down at Travis, hungry, pleading, and Travis can’t deny him. Travis keeps Vité’s gaze as he leans back down and covers his cunt with his tongue once more while his slick thumb doesn't leave his clit. He keeps the motions soft to wind up Vité at a slow pace. Vité voices his desperation for Travis to go faster, his hands clenching with his nails digging into his palms. 

“Patience _liebe, bitte._ ” Travis’s voice is rough. He wants to drag out louder sounds from Vité, but first he wants to take him apart slowly and watch his changing facial cues, the way his chest shudders with every breath. He never wants to stop torturing the man under him, he wants Vité to be wet and desperate forever just for him. 

His tongue flicks up against Vité’s clit and Vité _jolts_. The moan that accompanies it is the loudest noise Vité’s made so far. Travis is painfully hard, his dick twitching in response within his jeans, but by god this is about taking Vité’s pleasure for his own.

...Fuck being slow. Even his patience wears thin at this point.

Travis’s thumb presses harder, faster, and fucking _yes_ , Vité moans at the same volume, his hips giving an aborted thrust into his mouth. Travis decides to let that slide as he covers Vité with his mouth, licking deep and swirling his tongue into his entrance. Vité chants in the most desperate voice he’s ever heard, and yes, _yes—_ those noises are his, all _his_ —

Travis’s hands are so big compared—they swallow Vité’s small frame in his grip. So when he takes his other hand and presses one finger in him, two, Vité _whines._ _Mein gott_ he’s actually whimpering. It is such a good sound. Music to his ears. _Again._ He needs to hear it again. So, Travis thrusts his fingers into the wet heat of Vité’s cunt as he feels Vité’s walls flutter around the intrusions, sucking them in. Both of Vité’s hands dig into his own scalp, to try to keep from reaching down, Travis thinks. 

Travis pauses again and Vité almost _sobs_. “Hands back.”

Vité complies, but isn’t afraid to show his distaste. His small ears tuck against his head, his gaze swimming yet sharp. 

“ _Gut._ You may rock your hips, nothing more. Understand?”

Vité nods rapidly, desperate for him to get back to it.

“Only come when I say, _ja_?” Travis tests, and Vité’s strangled groan reassures him that Vité likes it. The revelation brings a new drive in Travis, and he digs his palm into his arousal to quell his want to feel the flesh currently on his tongue against his dick. To replace his thumb, Travis skids his tongue against Vité’s clit as his fingers brush something deeper inside. 

Vité releases a broken wail, and his hips rut up into Travis’s mouth freely. Travis groans into it as he grinds against his palm. He’s pulsing, he’s not sure if he has ever been this hard. The more Vité cants his hips up, the more Travis hums. His dick jumps in his pants and he moans into his prey, daring to wrap his lips around Vité’s clit and _suck_ , his tongue toying with the bud in his mouth. 

Vité absolutely cries out, his loud moans turning into high and broken whines. He’s panting wildly, trying to move his hips to match Travis’s pace, and Travis _keens_. 

“Ah—“ Vité whimpers, his voice quieter, “A little more, a little—“

Travis peeks up at him just in time to see the sudden knit in his brow, the silent curse falling from his mouth, the contortion to his face as Travis adds a third finger. A loud whine rips from Vité’s throat as Travis angles his fingers once more. His tongue leaves and his thumb comes back, rubbing in time with the thrust of Travis’s fingers. His hips push into his own palm, his dick begging for more friction, but he won’t give himself more than that. Not when Vité is on the edge. He wants to remember Vité’s face when he finally whites out.

Travis grazes his teeth against Vité’s left inner thigh, watching every reaction. “Now, _schön_.”

Vité seizes up quietly, throwing his head back with a loud, resounding thump against the table as Vité’s legs vice around Travis’s neck. The feeling of Vité’s claws against his back almost causes him to finish, but the last second he digs his hand painfully against his dick. He sinks his teeth into Vité’s thigh at the very sudden wave of displeasure and lets out a hoarse grunt.

After a moment, Travis releases Vité from his grip. He’s panting, waiting for Vité to float back. Vité breathes in bursts that slowly lengthen over time. As Vité calms, Travis glances down at his hand to find it covered in Vité’s slick, which honestly shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow it does. He just did that. He took Vité apart and got to see a very different side of him. Travis huffs through his nostrils and licks his hand clean. 

When Travis looks up, Vité is watching him with wide eyes. Travis raises a brow at him. 

Vité lets out a flustered, rough exhale, his hands reaching up to cover his face.

Travis counts whatever that reaction was as a win and wipes the rest of it off on his pants. His gaze rakes across the room, and he spots an unused moist towel. He stands up and gently untangles Vité’s legs from his shoulders. 

Vité makes a questioning noise as he comes back. Travis sighs and starts to clean him up, making sure he gets every crease. Vité squirms under the attention, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. 

Travis frowns. “Okay?” 

A muffled hum answers him. 

“It is a yes or no question.”

Another hum.

“Try again.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Vité opens his mouth. “Mnuh.”

Travis holds back a smile, wiping off his hands. “Articulate.” The bull places the used towel on a nearby chair and suddenly has the ridiculous feeling he’s the one who had given the massage today. This time he does smile, though he smothers it with his hand.

“You’re smilin’.” Vité mumbles, trying to sit up.

“Hm.” Travis’s grin disappears. ”Was I?”

“I like it.”

Travis turns to meet Vité’s gaze. He’s now sitting up (albeit weakly) on the table, and his eyes are trained on him, prodding. His gaze drifts down, and Travis has to force himself to stay still.

“You didn’t…” Vité’s voice is reserved.

Travis breaks from his gaze and picks up Vité’s clothes. “No. I don’t need it.”

Vité doesn’t look happy with his answer, but Travis plops Vité’s clothes beside him before he can argue. 

“Get dressed. You have other clients today.”

Vité frowns, looking at his clothes like they personally offend him. “…I do.” 

At that, Travis quietly sighs in relief. If he stays here a moment longer, he’s sure he will do something he’ll regret. 

They both enter the main room, and Vité’s voice follows Travis on his way out of the door.

“Come again.”

Travis doesn’t give a glance back. He hastily walks out without a word as the door closes behind him. 

...What the fuck did he _do_.


	2. Confrontation & Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis has been actively avoiding Vité for months after a situation he will not name, and now he’s regrettably face to face with him. Vité doesn’t seem like the type to go to a brothel, so this has to be about Travis, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Overstimulation, Multiple orgasms, Bruising, Biting, Light Masochism   
> This chapter has vaginal penetration, so if that makes you uncomfortable or dysphoric you’re welcome to skip it! Stay safe!<3

_No fucking way._

_That bastard did not come here._

Travis refuses to believe his own eyes. Vité has haunted him in his mind, his dreams, his every waking thought for endless weeks ever since the incident he shall not name. He still remembers grazing each of the man’s ribs, tracing the shape of them and traveling up, up, down… No, he can’t be here. He’s been avoiding Vité for months. His back has been killing him because of it. Christ, how he craves to feel lax under Vité’s talented fingers again, but he absolutely loathes himself for that thought and for being that weak. 

Surely it isn’t hard to find a new massage therapist, right? But Travis searched everywhere, and none of them were the same. There was always something to nitpick. “The lotion smelled too strong” or “they talked too much” or “the chair was too hard on my back”. It is not really any of that, but he just can’t bring himself to unwind with any other person. That thought should give him a hint as to what he is really feeling, but he refuses to think too hard on it. 

The weasel is talking to a few strangers on the side of the road, a small smile gracing his lips. It’s fake, just like every other expression Vité has ever made. Travis knows very intimately the range of expressions he pulled out of Vité by force, completely different from the polite plasticity he shows off now. If he tries hard enough, he can recall the give of skin underneath his fingers, the weasel’s pulse fluttering against his thumbs trying to escape and burst forth. 

He memorized the texture of the tank top Vité was wearing when the weasel pulled it off of himself, desperate to let Travis touch him however he pleased.

Vité isn’t in his usual work garb. Rather, he’s wearing a green turtleneck and dark boot cut pants. His sleeves are long, but for some reason Vité has them pushed up to his elbows, showing off the muscles of his arms. Of course. Of course he has to be showing off his arms like a fucking model. Fuck.

As Travis tries not to tear a new hole into his suit, Vité’s eyes glance around for a bit, seeming to grow bored with the conversation until they ultimately land on him. His face does… something. A twitch maybe. Vité says something to his companions, probably a half baked excuse, as he turns in his direction.

_Fuck. He’s coming over here._

Vité waltzes up, a blank look on his face. He carries himself well, standing up straight and acting as graceful as water, but Travis knows Vité is a shark in disguise, his teeth sharp, waiting to strike. His greeting smile is polite, contrite. 

“Hello Travis. I suppose I know where you work now.” Vité quips casually. He peers over towards the sign of the establishment. “A brothel, hmm.”

“Why are you here?” Travis roughly asks. It would be harder to avoid him now that Vité knows where he works. The thought of Vité visiting him daily sends an uncomfortable tingle through his fingers. “What do you want.”

Vité hums, giving Travis a small smile like the fake one he gave those men earlier. Travis wants to bite off his lips. “I’m here on business, you could say.”

“Business. Here.” Travis deadpans.

“Yes. I have some news that I think you’ll enjoy.”

Travis raises a brow, already feeling exhausted from speaking to him.

Vité lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes holding a mischievous glint. “Thanks to all your patronage, I was able to get a new piercing.”

Travis pauses and his frown deepens. _What the fuck did that mean?_

To show off his new prize, Vité opens his mouth and points to his tongue. A small orb rests in the middle of the organ, a small sparkle of light reflecting in its metal. Travis catches himself staring a bit too late when he realizes Vité is grinning under his attention. 

“Do you want to know how many other piercings I have?” Vité asks quietly, which really shouldn’t be a question that unnerves Travis to the core, but it does. Fuck, it _does._ Why didn’t he see any of them before? This is new information about Vité. New information after he thought he knew him, felt him, cracked him open like a fresh clam and took the insides for his own. He hoarded the precious fleeting expressions Vité had shared with no one else but him, and now... Who else knows about these piercings? Who prepared the needle? Pierced his flesh? Watched the slight change in Vité’s eyes as the needle went through? How many people? How many times? It was all his, it was _all his,_ but now—

Travis prepares to answer, anger rushing to burst out of his throat, but is quickly interrupted when Bruiser taps his shoulder. Travis stops seeing red for long enough to see him sign, _My shift_. Bruiser gives him a look he’s never really seen before, but he immediately knows how to interpret it. 

Bruiser had been with the brothel longer than he had, and he had grown fond of the silent wall that could punch rows of teeth out of someone’s mouth. He remembers when he first met him, the pitbull hesitantly weaving hand motions Travis couldn’t make sense of. Iza, Bruiser’s wife, personally taught him what is universally known as SL, sign language. It took many sessions but within a few months he made progress. Surprisingly, knowing sign language helped immensely on the job. Those small, unnoticeable gestures have saved lives.

Travis feels the scar on his right shoulder tingle. 

While the insistent public displays of affection from Bruiser and Iza grate on his nerves, the shared silence of their shifts offers him something he can’t name. Not a soft feeling, but rather, an invisible bond that ties them together and leaves him whole. An unspoken promise between the two. He trusts Bruiser to protect him with his life, while Bruiser expects nothing less from Travis. They are partners, through and through, though if he ever admitted this out loud he’s sure Iza would lord it over him for a year at the very least. Maybe three.

Travis lets out a rough exhale and pinches his brow, feebly staring at the calluses on his hand for a moment before stepping to the side to let Bruiser take his place. Bruiser is too soft for his own good, he thinks, letting him slip out again after having been scolded by Dewey for the third time.

“I will make it up to you.” Travis whispers, and Bruiser gives a polite nod in response. 

He doesn’t notice that Vité and Bruiser give each other a calculating look, though.

___

  
  


Travis steps inside with no regard as to whether or not Vité follows. The chatter within the packed room fills his mind with an incessant buzz, one he has grown accustomed to, though it does nothing to calm him. He can still hear the perfect, graceful steps behind him, matching that of a cougar patiently stalking its prey. It unnerves him. This is the first time Vité is in Travis’s home turf, yet somehow Vité still manages to be in control.

A familiar feeling tingles within his stomach, sending ripples of shocks up his arms and back. He can feel Vité’s gaze trained on him, slowly eyeing up his course. He hates it, he wants to hate it truly, but—

“Travis! Aren’t you supposed to be… Oh.“ The new voice cuts off.

Dear lord, of all the people they could have run into, why did it have to be Musa. 

The bird’s eyes go wide before he smirks at the sight in front of him. Travis can already sense the rumors spreading, Musa is never one to keep secrets. “Hey—y Vité, it’s been awhile since I’ve visited, huh? Hope you haven’t gotten too lonely without me around!” Musa laughs, trapping Vité under his arm.

Vité appears... uncomfortable, maybe a bit frustrated since he was interrupted. Travis isn’t sure if Musa spots it or not, or just doesn’t care. “Not entirely,” he mumbles, “but your stories prove to be very entertaining.”

“Aah, glad you think so.” Musa purrs. “I know you hear a variety of stories from the old ladies that visit you, so I like to give you some fun ones, you know?” He’s raking his talons through Vité’s fur as he speaks, and Travis notices Vité has to practically force himself to release the tension in his shoulders.

“Of course. You know I appreciate it.” Vité’s smile is fake _fake_ **_fake_**. 

Travis’s teeth crack under the immense pressure of trying to keep calm. He knows Musa is one to flirt with any guy that breathes, but _honestly._ Musa knows about his trips to Vité. Travis has caught him and Iza spying a few times.

Either Musa senses the drop in temperature or decides to let them off, because he unlatches from Vité and pats Travis’s back on his way out. “You can use the extra bedroom, but be sure not to break any furniture!” His far-off laughs sound extra annoying when he leaves.

“You treat him?” Travis asks, keeping his voice low.

“Of course. I have other customers.”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect one of them to be _that thing._ ” Travis hisses through his teeth, and Vité gives a melodic laugh in response, covering his mouth. Travis stares at him.

“He’s not that terrible. Just a bit too... touchy.” Vité says, glancing at his own arms. Travis is about to say _how touchy I’ll kill him_ , but Vité looks back up at him with a renewed smirk. “Though not as touchy as you.”

Travis’s nails dig into his hands, and he quickly turns away so Vité can’t see how red his face is. He lets his anger overshadow his embarrassment. To prevent any more interruptions, Travis briskly enters one of the side rooms, and Vité, unsurprisingly, isn’t far behind. As soon as Vité is in the same vicinity, Travis slams and locks the door, a snarl forming on his face. “Tell me, why the fuck are you here?”

Vité just smiles that same polite smile, and Travis’s blood pressure rises to another level. “I didn’t expect you to be here, if it’s of any consolation. Though I must say, it’s a nice surprise.”

He doesn’t believe that for a fucking second, especially since he’s been actively avoiding him for so long. Vité probably took it upon himself to ask Musa where he worked since the cockatiel apparently visits him. (Travis feels a small pang of pity for him… He knows what Musa is like.)

The weasel is drinking in Travis’s attire, and Travis tries not to connect that action with what he had done earlier. Vité’s gaze travels from his well tailored suit to his ironed pants and shiny shoes. “Pretty fancy.” Vité wears a mischievous grin, and his dark eyes penetrate through the clothing. “A suit looks shockingly good on you.”

“Don’t get used to it, _betrüger_.” Vité beams at the pet name, and Travis forces himself to stare at the wallpaper. “And don’t expect that I’ll allow you to come back another time.”

“Oh? And why is that?” Vité shows his teeth; he’s absolutely tickled he’s getting on Travis’s last nerve, he can tell. “I’m a potential customer, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t take you for one to spend money on beer or pole dancing shows.” Travis absolutely growls, stepping closer into Vité’s space to appear more imposing. “You don’t care about this sort of entertainment at all. You came here for **me**.”

Vité is silent for a moment. He isn’t fazed at all by Travis’s proximity. If anything, his smile grows bigger. “A bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

“Why did you follow me inside then?”

“You were making it very hard to catch up on our lost time.” 

Travis groans and rubs his face in his hands. “ _Du bist eine Bedrohung._ ”

“I take it you missed me as much as I missed you? You haven’t visited in over,” Vité playfully looks down at his fingers and counts out numbers for show, “hmm, let’s say 3 months, which adds up to 12 weeks and 4 days.”

Travis‘s brows furrow. Had he really been counting? “...I was busy.”

“Were you?” Vité hums, a pleasant gleam in his eyes. Travis knows it’s anything but. “I wonder. What made you so terribly busy that you were skipping out on your _prescribed_ chiropractic therapy?”

He stills. Vité’s eyes shred into him, ready for an explanation to excuse his avoidance. “I…” Travis lets out a rough sigh and runs a hand through his hair. He’s supposed to be mad at him right now, not the other way around. 

“You’re scared.”

Travis holds his breath.

Vité’s voice permeates the room. “You’re scared of me.”

“ _Nein._ ” Travis snarls, then reigns himself in, hiding his expression into one of his hands. 

“...Not of you.” He admits after a beat. “I’m scared of what I might do to you.”

Travis knows how his confessions affect Vité, so when he hears the shaky sigh Vité releases in response, he can’t help but to look up.

Vité’s eyes are dark and hungry. He knows that look. He knows it intimately. 

His stomach churns at the sight. 

Vité steps forward, and Travis steps back. This goes on for a couple of steps until Travis is up against the far wall, trapped. 

“Vité,” he husks, “don’t.”

At the sound of his name, Vité does a full body shudder. Travis didn’t know saying his name held so much power. “What if I want to know what fantasies lie in your head?” He whispers, stepping into his space and running his fingers across Travis’s arm. Travis releases a tight breath. Vité is drinking him in like he wants to devour him down to his hooves. “What if I want you to lose control?”

“You don’t want that.” Travis mutters.

He licks his teeth. “But I do.” Vité says. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to do right now?”

Vité’s claws trace the divots in Travis’s muscles and glide down to the center of his wrist. Travis refuses to snap. “I…” His chest heaves.

“How about my piercings? Do you want to rip them out?” 

Travis shuts his eyes tight and refuses to look at him. 

“Do you hate the idea of someone hurting me?” Vité asks, a soft edge to his voice. 

_Stop now. You don’t know what you’re saying._

“Is it because only you want to hurt me?”

He snaps. Travis reaches into Vité’s short hair and roughly tugs his head back, earning a gasp from the weasel’s throat. They both stumble back against an ironing board, and Travis grips both of Vité’s wrists in a bruising manner as his mouth hovers over Vité’s neck.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, _betrüger_.” He rumbles as another wave of want surges in him when Vité trembles in his hold.

“Then show me.” Vité challenges, his tone cocksure.

___

  
  


Vité likes to be excited. Well, that’s an understatement, because when Travis is around he can’t help but crave it. 

His life is a collage of the same customers telling stories of their spouses or grandkids, or that one pet they saved from the streets, and those are all nice, really! There’s nothing wrong with them, in fact they make him happy if he is in a good mood. But day in and day out, Vité gets tired of having the same conversations over and over again with the same forced smiles and fake pretenses. He’s had a few appreciate the different homemade lotions he uses, that’s fine. Ms. Rosemary smiles when she talks about her son and brings over food for him to try from time to time, and that’s nice. 

But it is all so… stale. He knows how someone will react if he talks to them the right way, or massages the right spot. Everything has become too predictable. The bills in his mail being too much to pay, the ache of his scars from not having time to recover from surgery, the same personalities traveling in and out of his business. 

Though, when he met Travis, every action became dangerous. Vité reacts to Travis like he’s a bomb waiting to go off. He plays it careful, his moves more calculated. Every prod is met with retaliation, so he has to be cunning and precise. When the fuse gets too close, he pulls back and waits for it to cool before lighting it up again when it is in danger of growing too cold. It has become a fun game to try and get a rise out of him without letting him become too violent. But also…

The thing is, Travis is cute when he’s angry.

Travis tries to hide how smitten he is. It’s adorable. Every time Vité quips at him, he notices a different tick of his. They change constantly, like clockwork. When Vité kneads into his back, it takes him different lengths of time (sometimes a minute, sometimes half an hour) to mellow out and grow vulnerable under his talented hands, and Vité can tell he hates how powerless it leaves him. Every reaction gives him more and more. More to file away. More to discover. He has never had this much fun interacting with another person before.

Vité let Travis feel in control when he was avoiding him, but he knew where he was. He knew where to find him. When months went by without a word, Vité became restless. So he got a new piercing and sought him out with one goal in mind. 

To make Travis his again. 

The way Travis’s expression stormed when he found out about his piercings left Vité’s limbs tingling. The scowl Travis gave as Musa wrapped his arm around his shoulders made warmth curl in his gut. When Travis tried to hide his red face by storming off, Vité’s heart flipped in his chest. With what’s happening now... All of it, every difficult play, is worth it.

Travis’s expensive suit is ripped open from the process of them manhandling each other. Vité’s turtleneck was forced off of him in one swift manouver and wrapped around his wrists to keep him still so that Travis could mark him as many times as he wanted, and he sure as hell isn’t disappointing. 

Vité predicted this, but Travis bites _hard._ The teeth against his neck dig into his skin, and Vité squirms when Travis forcefully slots his thigh in between Vité’s legs. Vité chases the feeling of something underneath him to grind down on and juts against him, earning him another harsh bite to his collarbone. 

“Open your mouth.” Travis orders, and who is he to say no?

He’s busy biting at Vité’s chest when two big fingers find their way on his tongue near his piercing, and Vité rolls it against Travis’s calluses and revels in the sharp inhale he causes. He catches Travis’s gaze as he gnaws gently on his knuckles and grinds himself against his leg. Travis’s eyes darken further at the sight, and Vité shivers at how that look makes him feel. 

Travis must have also liked it, because he grips Vité’s hip and roughly shoves him against his thigh. Vité lets out a sound around Travis’s fingers and follows the motions, up, down, up, down… Travis’s digits dig so hard into Vité’s hip that he thinks there will be bruises later, and he reels with how much he wants it to be true. His hair still stings from the forcefull way Travis handled him earlier, and Vité cherishes it. 

Travis doesn’t even ask when he lifts Vité and pulls off his pants. Vité stares down at his own boxer briefs as Travis peels them away from his waist. The open air chills him, and a sound rips out of his throat when Travis dips his thumb into his wet entrance, testing, teasing, then up… 

Vité chews and keens against the fingers in his mouth, saliva running down his chin as Travis rubs his clit in small, fast circles. He wants to object (he doesn’t want this to end so quickly) but loses the thought when Travis licks Vité’s right chest scar. Vité arches up into his touch—Travis is everywhere, _everywhere_ —and focuses on laving Travis’s fingers in attention, sucking them into his mouth. A rumble leaves Travis’s chest as he takes them out, still giving Vité’s clit just the right friction. 

Vité breaths come out in little gasps, and he jolts in surprise when his other hand joins in, thrusting his wet fingers into him. Travis, smart, amazing Travis crooks them and rubs along the top lining of his cunt, and it’s perfect, so perfect, so wonderful. His legs are shaking violently already, and he wants—he needs him to stop before he—

“Travis,” he repeats his name over and over in small, pleading whispers, “Too fast, I can’t—AAH!” 

Vité bites his lip hard as his orgasm rips through him, and the broken moan he releases is muffled by his teeth. He can’t see for a moment as the pleasure overtakes him. That was the fastest he’d ever come in his _life._ Travis, dear god, wrings everything out of him and keeps his orgasm longer as he rides it out.

Vité whimpers, his wrists still tied behind his head, and Travis stares up at him, unflinching. He’s still going, he’s _still fucking going_ — His body is trying to wind down but he _can’t_. “Travis,” he begs, afraid of what another orgasm so fast would do to him. His legs are still wrapped around Travis’s hips as Travis’s thumb gently traces the length of him, his fingers mapping his walls. He trembles and tries again, and to his own dismay his voice cracks. “ _Travis_.”

“I thought you wanted to know.” Travis says, sounding so normal, so unaffected that Vité’s hips jump in his touch. “My fantasies. You wanted to know. This was one of them.”

Vité’s breath catches in his throat, and he swallows around it. “What’s that?”

“Watching you fall apart over and over again, powerless to stop me.” Travis meets his gaze again, a look of interest and want in his brown eyes. His thumb grazes his clit again, and he has to stop himself from sobbing. “And begging me to just fuck you already.”

The fantasy said aloud is almost enough to make him come a second time, but he barely contains it. He rasps, “Should I beg, then?”

“Yes.” Travis says. “You should.”

His fingers quicken again, adding another, and Vité bangs the back of his head against the wall, his spine arching up to try and escape the feeling. Colors burst behind his eyes. God, this is going to be torture, isn’t it? It takes only a minute before Vité chokes as another orgasm is wrung out of him. Again, Travis makes it last, and Vité jolts at every movement because it’s _sensitive_. “Travis, please just…” Tears gather in his eyes.

Travis hums, giving Vité a small break. His walls clench around nothing, it is a relief but also uncomfortable. Travis starts licking his fingers in front of him, and Vité grunts in despair at what he’s seeing. Travis is actively trying to kill him. “Hm?”

“Keep going,” Vité says, his voice already shot, “please, I want you inside.” He needs him to stop circling his clit before he loses it again _right now please and thank you_.

“ _Liebling._ ” Travis murmurs. A shudder travels down Vité’s spine at how soft the endearment is spoken. “Are you sure? I could watch you come apart all day.” He emphasizes his words by grazing his thumb across Vité’s hole, and Vité lets out a frightened breath. He wants to escape the pleasure so badly it’s maddening.

“Please,“ Travis dips his thumb into his entrance and Vité startles, “ _nnf please please please—_ ” Vité pleads, his legs unable to keep still anymore.

“ _Gut liebe,_ _sehr_ _gut_.” 

Vité can barely hear his praises from the blood rushing in his ears. Travis’s fingers suddenly spread him apart, causing him to release a string of curses. When he glances down Travis is hovering close to his cunt, and he only has a moment to prepare before Travis’s tongue roughly brushes up and against him. An inhuman noise rips out of Vité’s throat when the tip of his tongue flicks against his clit. 

Travis continues devouring him, and Vité doesn’t know what the fuck comes out of his mouth next, a few sobs, maybe the bull’s name repeated endlessly, but Vité comes _again_. It hurts—but it’s _good it’s so good it’s too good_. 

He might have blacked out for a moment, because when he comes to Travis is leaving hickies on his inner thighs and stroking his knees. He’s observing Vité with a sort of reverence, or hunger. Vité is surprised that his body still has the energy to shiver in response, and Travis’s mouth quirks up just a little.

“Do you still want me?” Travis murmurs against Vité’s thigh, making another mark higher up. Vité twitches and shuts his eyes.

“Yes,” he croaks and tilts his head back, “please.”

Somehow that small plea, compared to all the others, affects Travis. Vité feels him quake against his leg. 

Travis stands and towers over him. Vité doesn’t have the energy to quip at him right now, but if he did, he'd tease Travis over just how bad he wants him. Travis runs one of his hands through Vité’s hair and tugs his head back gently, and Vité follows the motion, not fighting back. Travis trails pecks up his neck to his jaw, his other hand doing that thing Vité loves so much. Tracing the bones under his skin—at his hips, up to his ribs… Travis can be very soft when he isn’t paying attention. That just makes Vité miss him more.

The bull takes it upon himself to wipe off the spit from Vité’s chin, and Vité can’t help but blush. Travis must notice, because his mouth curls again. Vité can’t look away. When he leans in, Vité meets him halfway. Relief floods into Vité as Travis kisses him silly and tastes himself on Travis’s tongue, because he had a hunch he might not do that again. 

When Travis’s fingers graze Vité’s wrist bindings, he pleadingly shoves them into his hold. His arms have been behind his head for quite a while, and they're getting sore. Something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh rumbles in Travis’s chest as he takes pity on him. He unravels the shirt from his wrists and throws it to the floor.

“You may touch me.” Travis says and kisses the side of Vité’s mouth. “You are going to need something to hold on to.”

At that, Vité scrambles to get his arms around Travis’s shoulders to pull him closer against his chest. Travis goes back to kissing him, and Vité keeps his mouth pliant and open to encourage Travis to explore. Travis doesn’t disappoint. His tongue slips in and brushes the front of his teeth, then the roof of his mouth. Vité knows this is a distraction from what comes next, but he can’t help but be enthralled by the feeling of Travis’s tongue against his.

Something nudges him, and he glows with the knowledge of how hard Travis is. He didn’t get to see how affected he was last time, but now… Vité brushes one of his hands into Travis’s hair, tugging him down to kiss him deeper, and Travis obliges with a quiet groan. Vité wants Travis to feel amazing, even if it kills him—quite literally.

Fingers spread him open again. Vité gives a weak whimper into Travis’s mouth when he grazes the length of his dick against him. There’s some sort of viscous liquid on him, and Vité realizes he found lube somewhere in here. He shouldn’t be surprised by that—this is a brothel. He had a feeling, but god Travis is big. Travis digs a hand into Vité’s hip as he thrusts once against slick heat. Vité jolts and muffles a moan as he thrusts again and brushes against Vité’s abused clit. A few more slow and rough thrusts, and Vité is already desperate to get it inside him.

“Please,” Vité rasps. His claws dig into Travis’s skin as Travis juts his hips once more. “Mmnh, please…”

“ _Bitte was, liebling_?” Travis husks, an undertone of something in his voice.

He fucking knows what he’s doing to him. Vité lets out a mix between a sob and a growl. “Please… inside.”

Travis hums, seemingly amused. He bites Vité’s bottom lip as he lines up and languidly pushes in.

Vité’s legs turn into vices around Travis’s waist. Of course it’s big, of course there’s a burn from the stretch. The lube helps, but Vité hasn’t done this in quite a while, so he’s glad Travis prepped him as much as possible earlier.

When Travis is halfway in, Vité’s too full, but he keeps going anyway. His toes curl. He’s about to break… Travis distracts him by sucking on his tongue, swirling his own against the piercing, and Vité groans pathetically. Somehow he knew Travis would like the tongue bauble, if not infuriate him. 

It’s a near thing, but Travis pauses before reaching his cervix (Vité is highly thankful for that). Travis stops kissing him to lick at the marks on his neck while they settle, and Vité pants. He’s so fucking full. He’s never felt so full in his life. 

Vité suddenly has the greatest thought and lets out a weak laugh. Travis peeks up at him curiously. “If this is just one of your fantasies… you’re going to kill me with the rest.”

Travis snorts. “Didn’t I warn you?”

“You did,” Vité smirks, running a hand through his hair, “though I never said that wasn’t a good thing.”

Travis leers at him with a scorching gaze, and Vité only has a moment to realize what has come out of his own mouth before Travis pulls back his hips and thrusts in hard. Vité hastily bites at his own lip to force down a loud yelp and grunts instead. 

“You want me to break you?” Travis asks, his voice tight.

Vité nods quickly and grips his shoulder blades. 

“Like this?” Another sharp thrust.

Vité has a hard time controlling the noises that want to come out of his mouth, but he tastes blood from his fangs piercing his lip. 

“ _This_?” Travis snarls, giving a few more hard thrusts that turn into a brutal rhythm, and Vité breaks.

“Yes _yes yes yesss_ —“ Vité keens in a higher octave and throws his head back, his hips trying to meet every violent thrust Travis makes. It’s so fucking amazing that Vité’s claws are definitely breaking skin.

Travis suddenly grabs his throat as his other hand forms bruises into his hip, and Vité can’t control the very pleased moan that forces its way out of his chest. Travis tightens his fingers around his pulse, and Vité sobs out another string of choked praises as Travis moves faster. He’s using him and he _loves_ it.

Travis’s breaths come in short bursts as he slams his hips forward, and Vité tries to focus on his reactions as well. He didn’t get to see this last time. One of Vité’s hands darts upward towards one of Travis’s horns and grips it tightly. Vité maneuvers his mouth next to his face, and Travis takes that as permission to lick into his ear before biting down. Vité short circuits as he digs his claws into the hard bone in his palm and listens to the harsh panting next to his ear.

They’re both a mess at this point, and Travis’s thrusts are quickly growing erratic. He has a rampant need to make Travis lose himself more, but he’s too busy holding on for dear life as Travis fucks his brains out. Vité’s entire body is covered in small wounds, but he distantly realizes his back isn’t. He has no marks there yet. 

The sentence he wants to say is lost in another few rocks of his hips, but Travis pauses for a split second to grind inside of him and Vité blurts, “Turn me over.” 

Travis hesitates only a moment before roughly flipping him. Vité’s chest hits the overused fabric under him, and just like he wants, Travis bites down hard on the back of his neck and starts again. Travis grabs hold of Vité’s hips, both hands this time, and Vité’s claws rip into the board at how much he’s feeling. It’s exhilarating and new, and absolutely amazing. Vité arches into each tug of his hips, into each bite—and Travis lets out a harsh moan into his shoulder blade. 

Fuck, he wants to hear that again. He’s not sure if he has it in him, but Vité reaches down to rub his clit in aborted motions and bites at the fabric when Travis’s thrusts turn too rough in response. Travis isn’t moaning as much as Vité would like him to, but listening to his cut-off groans buried into his nape is enough to send him over the edge.

The hoarse cry is muffled by the fabric in his mouth, but Travis doesn’t miss the shaking that wracks his body (or the walls that clench violently around him). Vité endures a few more heavy thrusts before Travis quickly pulls out and finishes on the floor. Vité relishes in the rumbling moan that Travis releases, though Vité, vaguely disappointed, notes he forgot to tell Travis he can’t conceive. 

Travis’s forehead rests on Vité’s spine as they both catch their breath. Vité feels a bone deep satisfaction, one he definitely won’t get tired of any time soon. A few moments pass, and Travis’s hands start to explore a little, grazing gently across his hips up to his sides. If he was physically capable, Vité would be purring. The thought of Travis giving him a massage instead enters his mind, and he sighs longingly. Travis’s hands are talented in a way he didn’t predict. Maybe he has more to hide.

The bull’s head shifts, then Vité jumps when he prods at the peppered bruises forming on his hips. Vité releases a warm breath when he repeats the action with his shoulders and neck. He guesses he is inspecting the damages. A few times he touches too hard, but otherwise it is all soft.

...Travis is very quiet.

The weasel wipes his mouth and licks his teeth. The texture of whatever fabric is on the board under him is going to be hard to get out of his mouth. For the moment, all Vité tastes is burnt clothing. Vité weakly grabs one of Travis’s horns to get his attention, and Travis seems to snap out of whatever he was doing. Vité’s limbs tremble when he turns onto his back and pulls him in for a kiss. Thankfully, Travis responds in kind. 

The kiss is languid. Slow. Travis sighs onto his lips when Vité digs his claws behind his ear, and Vité commits it to memory. His piercing rolls with Travis’s tongue, and Vité can tell he likes it. A minute later, Travis pulls back and gives Vité a weird look.

Vité is about to comment on it before Travis speaks. “You taste like string.”

It takes a second, but Vité laughs as Travis’s expression morphs into irritation. He then gives him a hooded gaze. “You expected me not to bite the ironing board?”

He looks confused, then flusters. Vité’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he gapes unabashedly. Travis rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to hide his face. 

“No! No, I want to see how red you can get,” Vité downright giggles and sits up, pawing at his cheeks. 

“Shut it.”

Vité’s arms slip around his shoulders as he leans in with a satisfied grin. Travis peeks through his fingers. He notices Travis is distracted by the bites and hickeys on his neck, and his smirk curls higher. “You didn’t have to pull out.” He murmurs, and Travis’s face grows darker shade. Vité loves that.

“I don’t know if you…” He trails off.

Vité tilts his head. “I can’t. But it’s nice of you to worry about me.” 

Travis grumbles something else into his palm, and Vité can’t seem to stop smiling. Vité takes Travis’s other hand into his own and drags it across a few teeth marks he left. Travis’s fingers twitch over them hesitantly. _Is he nervous now? Guilty?_

“They’re pretty, right? I like them too.” He licks his lips and presses against the large bite on the back of his neck. Travis lets out a sharp exhale as his eyes follow the curves in the bruises. _No, not guilty…_ “These won’t fade for some time.” Vité says in a low tone. “I’ll have to be careful when I shower.” 

Travis is silent. Vité blinks up at him. His eyes are blown wide again, and Vité preens under the attention. _He is grateful._

“You like hurting me.” He says it like it is a fact. 

Travis bristles. “No…” 

“Marking me, then?”

Travis is quiet for a moment before he nods. 

Vité is genuinely curious now. He gets an idea. He lifts Travis’s hand to his mouth and grazes his fangs against his inner wrist, then sucks a mark into it. Travis lets it happen without much objection and inhales when Vité unlatches his teeth from him. 

“There.” Vité smiles warmly. “Now you’re mine, too.”

Travis swallows. “Yours?”

“Yeah. Now you can’t ditch your appointments.”

Vité practically watches Travis’s face sour, and his laugh rings in the air at the sight. 

The one thing he misses is Travis’s exasperated smile afterward.


	3. Beach Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vité has a moment at the beach, and Travis interrupts for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends wanted me to write a Hurt/Comfort thing for these two, and I enjoyed writing every word. This chapter contains no smut, just fluff!

The sea breeze caresses his cheeks. 

His feet curl and dig into the sand. The texture of it between his toes keeps him tethered to the earth, lest his head float right off of his body. Vité watches the waves morph in shining, hypnotizing patterns with mild interest. The sun glints off of the surface of the water like the ocean were made of a million tiny gemstones ready to wash ashore and declare Vité a millionaire. The foam of the tide swallows his ankles when it languidly washes in and retreats back, teasing, aiming unsuccessfully to tempt him to disappear into the undertow. Vité takes a deep, stunted breath and allows it to burn in his lungs before releasing it in a slow stream from his lips. The shore is empty for miles—it’s most likely not a popular spot. Shells litter the ground. Seagulls call in that high pitched warbled voice in the air around him. The orange horizon is paired by a stray cloud or two taking their fleeting time traveling to different eyes, different perspectives. 

Truly, he’s needed the alone time away from his work. He’s finally saved enough money to take a week off. Yes… this is the best he can get for a vacation. Going to a local beach nearby on foot. That’s what a popular vacation is, right? The beach? He sighs and spots a hermit crab scuttle its way back into the depths. He feels like doing the same.

It doesn’t bother him that he can’t afford better. Really. He’s never cared about traveling. Home is what he knows—what he’s comfortable with. Habit has always been his MO. Even when he so desperately wants change, nothing happens. It’s safer to wait it out, plan ahead. But he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. What he’s planning for. He has no drive, no motivation. He has nowhere to go, nothing better he could accomplish. His job is good, he likes his job. He meets so many wonderful people that become comfortable with him over time, comfortable with his identity. Supportive people. But in the end, they are still strangers.

Vité has no friends outside of work he can turn to. He won’t let anyone get close enough.

Vité bends down and sits in the sand, hugging his knees close to his chest. What is he doing here? Taking in the sights? Vité lets out a hysteric breath. 

Vité doesn’t like the beach.

The smell of the sea is atrocious. It’s nauseating. Kelp keeps grazing against him. Sharp thorns have dug into his legs from walking here through some brush. He’s been pinched multiple times by hidden crabs in the sand. His feet hurt. 

At least the sand is warm.

He closes his eyes and just breathes for a couple of minutes. He came here to relax. To feel. To think. It hasn’t been working in his favor. He wishes he had somewhere better he could go.

There’s a cough behind him, and Vité startles, whirling around to see a familiar black bull. 

“ _Hallo_.”

Vité blinks, unsure if he just conjured up Travis in his head or if he’s actually here.

His silence seems to unnerve imaginary Travis because he frowns. “No hi back?”

“Oh,” Vité mumbles, “hi.”

It’s weird seeing Travis with a shirt on. Then again, most of the time Vité is doing his job when Travis is around. _Most of the time._

“Why are you here?” Vité says softly.

Travis gives him a weird look. “I was about to ask the same.” 

Vité pauses and turns away from him, looking back at the waves brushing him. He hears the sound of sand shifting before Travis sits next to him cross legged. Vité doesn’t feel like talking, so he doesn’t. The waves fill the quiet as the two of them sit side by side, wordless.

“You are strange today.”

Vité doesn’t look at him. He watches the sand mold around his toes like silk mush. 

“No comment?” Travis’s nonexistent voice says from his side.

The weasel hugs his knees closer. “...No.” 

A noise comes out of Travis’s throat. For some reason, Vité thinks he sounds worried. They take in the scenery for a moment before Vité feels an arm curl around his shoulder and tug him into the bull’s side. Vité wants to brush him off and laugh and joke about how he’s showing his weak side. But nothing makes it to his mouth. Not one thought. 

Honestly he feels like crying.

The arm around his small frame tightens, and Vité realizes he’s been shaking. He won’t let the tears come. He refuses to.

His mother used to hold him when he cried. He remembers her soft voice against his ear, telling him that everything would be okay because they had each other. The color of her fur was beautiful against the backdrop of wheat. Her sunhat would blow away in the autumn wind, and she’d laugh as Vité ran to catch it for her as if it were a precious item. The seeds of dandelions danced around them back then. When he hurt himself somehow, either by fucking up a test or scraping his knees, she used to… 

A large hand abruptly strokes his head, and Vité chokes out a dry sound. It stills. Vité fumbles and takes the hand to put it back on his head, and hesitantly, the gentle petting continues. He’s not crying, really. His tears are all gone, he has no more left to give. They all went with her. He cried it all out years ago.

But the warmth against his side grounds him. Travis is here with him, comforting him, something Vité never thought would happen in his lifetime. Their relationship isn’t meant to be _this_. He never expected this. He never expected Travis to be guiding him through hyperventilation, but here they are.

After a few minutes of _not crying, he isn’t crying,_ Vité is leaning against Travis like a lifeline. Travis rubs his back in soothing circles, and when Vité peeks up at him Travis is staring out past the sea. The tightness in his chest loosens, and for a moment Vité is here with Travis. The man that has given him so much without even trying. He loves him… He loves him. He loves him and that scares the fuck out of him.

Vité sniffs and stands up out of Travis’s hold. It must have been unexpected—Travis makes a confused grunt behind him. Vité holds his arms to try and replicate the feeling of Travis’s arm around him and walks a bit deeper into the ocean to create some distance.

“Okay now?” Travis asks. His voice is soft for once.

“M’ fine.” Vité murmurs, his ears bending back. “Just tired.”

Travis huffs. “I do not think “tired” is the reason, _liebe_.” 

Vité doesn’t talk back. He knows he’s right. The fish swimming against the tide taunt him.

“I can walk you back.” Travis suggests, and Vité’s heart makes its way further up his throat.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“That is up to me.”

Vité turns his head. Travis is giving him a serious look, but not a mean one. Another new expression Vité hasn’t seen before. The promise to protect is in his gaze. Vité feels wanted. Vité feels _loved_. Vité smiles softly, suddenly, and Travis blinks, the stare faltering. 

“You’re too stubborn to listen to a word I say,” he sighs and waves his hand casually, brushing Travis’s arm on the way back to a nearby road. Travis snorts and follows behind him, a now comforting presence.

Vité forgot what it was like to feel loved.


	4. Bratwurst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis cooks Vité a meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one is just for fun—no smut. They’re just soft, Joe.

The growl that comes from Vité’s stomach is obscenely loud. Vité slaps himself on the offending body part. Travis deftly turns his head to stare incredulously at him, wondering if the sound he heard is even humanly possible. It’s difficult to gauge Vité’s reaction to his own body’s blunder since his back is turned, but Travis swears he spies Vité’s ears turning pink.

“Hungry?” Travis asks, his mouth curling just slightly at the side.

“No.” Vité replies indignantly.

His stomach growls again out of pure spite, and Travis chuckles quietly at the timing. Vité’s shoulders hunch.

“Your stomach disagrees.” Travis stands up from the couch and cracks his back before making his way to the kitchen. “I need to eat anyway. I will make us something.”

Vité perks up immediately and whips his head around. “You’re going to cook me something?”

“ _Us _ something.  _ Ja_ _._ ”

The weasel’s tail lashes behind him in what Travis assumes is excitement. Travis covers up a snort that rises to escape at the sight of Vité staring at him starry eyed like a puppy awaiting his treat.

They both make their way into the kitchen, and Vité sits down at the table not to far from the stove. Travis’s apartment isn’t really  _ lavish_ _,_ per se, so the kitchen is nothing big or fancy.

“...When is the last time you ate?” Travis asks, suspicious after wondering why his stomach growled midday.

Vité answers without hesitation. “Breakfast, yesterday.”

“That is...” Travis grimaces, “unhealthy.”

“I usually don’t have time to eat.” Vité flashes a ghost of a smile.

“Surely your job does not keep you  _ that _ busy?”

Vité chuffs. “A dig at my profession?” He leans back against his chair and reaches up to partly cover his mouth. “Maybe not, but I am busy in other ways.”

“How?”

Vité hums. “I have hobbies to do, people to talk to.” Vité glances away and taps his fingers on the table. “What will you be cooking?”

The bull bristles at the blatant evasion of Vité’s eating habits. “...Bratwurst. Unfortunately I do not have the ingredients for potato salad to go with it, so it will just be that.”

Vité makes a passive noise in response. “Haven’t had either of those. Do you cook often?”

“For my colleagues.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not for yourself?”

_ “This is good!” Iza exclaims, morally outraged. It’s no surprise, she can barely make stir-fry. Her husband sits beside her, politely eating as she slams her hand on the table. “Unfair!!! This is so unfair, you have to teach me how to cook right now!” She’s yelling with a mouth full of food. It’s unsightly, but Bruiser continues to eat in silence. _

_ “Seriously,” Musa guffaws, fork in hand, “if we knew you could cook this good we would have put you to work with Sas a long time ago.” _

_ “Oh he couldn’t handle me,” Sas replies teasingly, “but I have to admit you almost reached my level. Almost. I pride myself in my cooking, you know?” _

_ Betty mumbles into her plate. “Incredible really... I never thought you’d be the type, but now that I truly think about it...”  _

_ “This is a crime! All this time and you didn’t say anything?!” Tattie screeches, mirroring Iza in her frustration. Tootie also mirrors Bruiser, who calmly lets their spouse yell as they enjoy their meal. _

_ Dewey sits quietly as he eats, a smile on his face while his employees chatter disbelieving praises at a dismayed Travis. _

Travis stops himself from admitting it doesn’t taste as good without his friends smiling around him, complimenting the meals his father used to lovingly make for him. “No.”

Vité squints at him but thankfully lets it slide. “What do you usually eat, then?”

“What I assume you eat.” He waves his hand in Vité’s direction, squatting down to dig for a usable pan from one of the cabinets. “Heatable packages. Take out.”

“And you’re ribbing me for my eating habits?” Vité exaggerates an offended expression, putting a hand to his chest.

He scowls in distaste as he stands up with his prize. “At least I  _ eat,  schätzchen_ _._ It is not healthy to skip meals.”

Vité visibly brightens at the fresh pet name, and—ah fuck, Travis can’t help but find it endearing. “I’ll eat if it means you’ll cook for me.”

Travis sighs and pinches his brow, exasperated. “That is a threat. If I do not come over, I have no way of knowing if you have eaten or not.”

“Mhm.”

Blackmail. What he’s best at.

Travis turns back from the pan he’s preparing with a questioning stare directed in Vité’s general presence. Vité innocently flutters his eyelashes at him with a tiny smile on his face. Travis shakes his head, getting out the raw meat and beer from the fridge, also onions that were stuffed far back into the closet. He’s surprised he still has any, to be honest. “I am not... er, entertaining company.”

“You are to me.”

Travis clicks his tongue. “It has already been proven you have bad taste in company.”

Vité lets out a sharp chime of laughter. “And when was that decided?”

“Ever since you accepted my second appointment.” Travis trails off, turning the heat on medium. The weasel hums sweetly behind him. He can hear the smile on his face. Travis fetches his cutting board and chops the onions. The silence on Vité’s end gets to be a bit much when Travis can feel his eyes on him. Every slice leaves him more tense.

“You know,” Vité starts, and Travis grips the knife almost in relief, “this is nearly domestic. I’m proud of us.”

Travis resolutely lets out a tired, grating sigh.

“I mean it! You glare at me all the time as if I‘m the scourge of the earth—yes like that, thank you for the example—but right now, you’re doing it while making me food in the comfort of your home. So it’s less intimidating. More... Hm. Give me a moment.”

Vité takes a while to think of what he wants to say, so Travis sweeps the chopped pieces of onion into the pan (they make a satisfying soft sizzling sound) and pops open the beer. He pours in just enough to let the meat breathe once the heat is just right. Travis peeks over his shoulder. Vité’s nose is wrinkled in thought before he snaps his fingers.

“Sweet! That’s the word I was looking for.”

Travis swears Vité waited until he gave him his attention again. Travis’s face visibly tries to escape this mortal realm.

Vité chuckles fondly. “Like that. You’re sweet when you do that, too.”

His laugh, no matter how small, makes Travis’s heart flip in his chest every single time. “You are... just...” He groans under his breath. _“_ _Betörend. Scheiße. ” _

“Every time you say new words I’m going to ask what they mean later.”

_ “Bitte_ _._ Do not.”

The pan is finally ready, thank fuck. He places the raw meat into the mix and memorizes what time it is. As he stares down the clock on his microwave, he’s startled by arms sneaking their way around his stomach. Vité is generously pressed up against his back. He does not even have to look to know. Travis attempts to stifle the blush that scorches his cheeks and dutifully watches the bratwurst cook.

Minutes pass with no interruption. Travis is able to flip the bratwurst to check how they’re fairing without issue, though Vité’s touch is getting distracting. The weasel’s weight leans on him comfortably, and Travis can feel the curves in Vité’s face when he presses his forehead into the center of Travis’s shoulder blades. Vité’s palms map Travis’s stomach up to his chest. At some point, Vité’s hands find their way under Travis’s shirt. The hint of Vité’s bare claws against his skin leaves focusing on making sure the food doesn’t burn difficult.

“Since you are up,” Travis grits through his teeth, “would you get the plates.”

Vité hums innocuously and traces his claw in a circle on the center of Travis’s chest. “Dunno where you keep them.”

“In the top shelf to your right.”

“You’re closer.” He mumbles. “Don’t see why I have to.”

Travis can barely hear what he’s saying. “Menace.” He quietly grunts, reaching to the aforementioned shelf and acquiring two plates. Vité stretches with him to accommodate for their size difference, stubbornly latching on. The bull snorts at what a silly display they’d make if someone else were present.

He places them down onto the counter and flips the bratwurst. They smell good. Five more minutes...

Vité’s hand slips down to Travis’s waist, thumbing his hip. Travis stiffens when Vité’s hips push into his space, snug against his ass. Vité releases a contented breath as his other hand flattens against Travis’s stomach.

This is hell. It has to be.

“This will not take much longer.” Travis husks. “Sit down?” Regretfully it comes out as more of a question.

Vité grins. Travis can just make out the curve of his lips against his back. “Think I’m fine here.” He accentuates his point by tightening his arm around Travis, tugging him more into his space.

He tries to keep his voice stern. “Sort of hard to focus.”

“Is it?” Vité says off-handedly, leaning up to press an open mouthed kiss on the back of Travis’s neck.

Travis doesn’t refer to the fact that his teeth chatter in response. _“_ _Ja.” _

“I’m sure you can handle it.” The weasel leaves more pecks on his nape up to the back of his left ear, keeping a tight hold on Travis so he can’t escape his touch.

Travis suppresses a shudder and puts his weight onto the counter, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of it. _“_ _ Es ist _ —It is dangerous.”

“Not if you pay attention.” His claws glide against the fur on Travis’s navel. Travis swallows.

Three more minutes.

“I do not want you hurt.”

“I trust you.”

Travis inhales shakily at Vité’s admission. Travis is never prepared for what he says. “...You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.” Vité says against his spine, his right hand sneaking into Travis’s pants pocket.

Two minutes.

_ “Bitte.” _

“Please what?”

“Do not toy with me.” Uncharacteristically, he sounds pitiful.

Vité picks up on this. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I meant lying to me.”

There’s a slight pause on Vité’s end. “Why would I lie?” He reproaches.

Travis shuts his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t lie about that.” His voice is firm.

“You lie about many things.”

“Never about that.” Vité’s lips gently trace his shoulder. “Never about you.”

...One minute.

Travis’s hand finds Vité’s on his own stomach. Vité waits patiently as Travis grips it through the fabric of his shirt. They stay like that for a moment before Travis releases him, and Vité acquiesces and backs off a little. He shuts off the heat and takes out the bratwurst, scooping them into the plates.

“My father made these for me when I was younger.” Travis says softly, not looking in Vité’s direction. “I used to wake up to the smell of these. No matter how groggy I was, I always ate them.” Travis lifts the pan and places it on a cold eye on the stove. “I suppose I... I want to make sure you eat.”

Travis feels fingers against his chin before he’s turned backward. Travis has to shift so his back is to the counter before Vité reaches up to kiss him, Vité’s arms now looped around his neck. Travis releases a confused sound when Vité breaks away. Travis is surprised to see a rare, tender smile on Vité’s face.

“Thank you, Travis.” His eyes squint with the power of his grin. “I’ll eat. As long as you eat with me.”

Travis blinks. “...Of course.”

The meal is uneventful, nothing interesting happens. Vité compliments his father’s recipes and asks for Travis to cook for them more, which Travis reluctantly accepts. Other than that, Travis doesn’t allow himself to question why Vité decided to hold his hand throughout the entirety of the conversation.

He can enjoy something. Just this once.


	5. Back When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Vité and Travis’s childhoods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, and just a bit cheesy. SFW.

_ “Sweetie?” Her voice was tinged with panic, her footsteps light in the gravel and grass. The trees rustled around them as the wind soothed the hot tears that had flown down his adolescent cheeks. He sniffed, just once, and his mother came running. _

_ “There you are! I heard you cry out.” She said and took Vité gingerly into her arms. “Are you okay?” _

_ “‘M fine mama.” Vité muttered in a high response. “Look, I found acorns.” _

_ “Were you climbing the trees to find more?” She asked as she cradled him. _

_Vité nodded and glanced up at the tree, still enamored with its height. He was able to climb up about halfway before he lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. It wasn’t that high up, he thought, mildly upset with himself that he could not climb higher._

_ See, he was more fragile than other kids his age. His limbs were gangly, and every time he attempted to play with them he’d always get hurt somehow. They teased him about things he couldn’t understand. Like Darren, who had given him the titles “sissy, crybaby, tomboy”, which didn’t sit right with him. Why did he have to prove himself to Darren? He wasn’t his friend, just some boy that liked to pick on him at school. Vité was never hurt by Darren’s comments, though it didn’t stop him from rebutting with a few insults back. Maybe he’d taken it as a challenge, to Vité’s displeasure. _

_ He was doing it for himself, he decided. Stubbornly, he’d tried to climb the tallest tree in the backyard to prove he could. If he could do this right, then surely he could be considered brave? Boyish? Maybe then, the other boys would admire him and stop calling him a girl. _

_ “Did you find what you were looking for?” His mom asked into his ear, fixing his bangs out of his eyes. _

_Vité’s tiny ears twitched at the feeling. “No.” He frowned. “I didn’t get to the top.”_

_ He felt his mother’s breath against his ear when she chuckled gently. “Why do you want to climb to the top? To see the other houses?” _

_ The young weasel shook his head in the negative and became just a bit frustrated he had to talk about it. “If I get to the top, then the others won’t call me girly anymore.” _

_ Her ears lowered. “Oh, honey.” Mom carded her fingers through his fur on his head and cleaned it of some leaves. “They make fun of what they can’t understand.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Change scares them.” She said and reached out to the acorns in Vité’s fingers, cupping her hands around his own. “Like these acorns. They’re all stuck inside shells.” _

_ “Am I in a shell?” He asked. _

_ “Yes. But you remember what acorns do, don’t you?” _

_ Vité nodded. “They grow.” _

_ “Yes, dear. They grow.” Mom took one acorn. She placed it in the dirt. “Right now, you’re sprouting. And soon, you will grow so much, like Mr. Tree, here.” She said, bopping his nose and receiving a squeaky giggle in response. She smiled and stared up at the tree with him. _

_ “Will they grow too, Mama?” _

_ “The kids at school? Of course.” Her tail swept over one of the old acorns on the ground. “They might be late, but with enough love and guidance, maybe they’ll grow to be just as sturdy as you.” _

_ Vité liked that idea. If he was tough, then the other boys would have to leave him alone! He wanted to be a tree right then and there! But sourly, he thought to himself that growing takes time. He’d wait as long as it took to become like that. _

_“Does sturdy mean strong? Will I be super strong when I’m an adult like you?”_

_ His mother laughed. “If you want, dear. It’s not only about your outer strength, but inner, too.” She whispered. “Your feelings will be so strong, no one will be able to break them. But for right now, I love you just as you are.” She kissed his forehead. Her eyes sparkled orange in the sunset light. _

_ “My perfect little boy. You’re going to be so wonderful, and I’ll be so proud of you.” _

_ I’ll be so proud of you. _

_ So proud of you. _

_ You... _

Vité unconsciously caresses an acorn in his palm. There aren’t as many oak trees as he wishes there were. Only a few, in the woods behind his residence. Birds above him tweet their song and flap about, dancing from branch to branch. He spies a nest two trees away, and he watches its protector stuff it with more sticks and material. He twists the acorn with his fingers as the mama bird flies away into the sky, out of sight.

Without looking at it, he pushes the acorn into the ground and stands. Vité lifts his arms and latches his hands together, stretching left to right to ease out the kinks in his body. He inhales the air that smells of sap and pine, and makes his way back home.

He dimly wonders if Darren now owns a pick up truck with massive wheels.

_______   
  


_ Travis had gotten into one too many fights. _

_ The young bull realized that, sitting alone in the hall right outside of the principals office with a black eye. Micheal had made fun of his accent and all of his friends laughed with him about it. Just because Micheal felt tall enough to make a joke out of Travis, didn’t mean he was strong enough to take a punch. He’d given Micheal a broken nose, so his eye wasn’t of much consequence in comparison. He would have done more if the teacher hadn’t stopped them. _

_ The principal opened the door and stepped out, Travis’s father in tow. Travis wouldn’t dare look at his father, but he was able to give the principal a very scathing glare. His father led him away and out of the school, his scowl matching his son’s.  _

_ In German, his father spoke. “What am I to do with you, son? That was the third fight this month.” _

_ “Papa,” Travis grumbled, “he made fun of my accent.” _

_ “And you made fun of his shoes.” As his dad pointed that out, Travis’s ears lowered in discomfort. “You know he cannot afford what we can. He is lucky to be in school. Does he still skip meals?” _

_ Travis muttered. “Yes, papa. But that does not make it right.” _

_“No, son. It does not.” He said. “But you should not pick at him for that which he cannot control.”_

_ “My accent is the same.” He rebutted. _

_ “I know. But tell me, why do you think he picks fun at you, as you do to him?” _

_ Travis thought about it in silence as they got into the car. On the passenger side, Travis heard his father turn the ignition key, and the car sputtered on. They pulled out of the parking lot and into the road. The silence was back, his father electing not to turn on the radio to hear his son speak. _

_ “He is ashamed.” Travis eventually decided on. “He wants to feel included. His friends are a bad influence, but they are all he has.” _

_ His father nodded. “That is close, I believe. But to truly understand him, you will have to talk to him. Privately.” _

_ Travis sighed and grabbed his horns indignantly. “Do I really have to?” _

_ “If you want the fighting to stop, it would be a first good step.” Dad said and glanced at Travis, who was making a hesitant face in defiance. “We do want the black eyes to stop, do we not?” _

_ “...Yes, papa.” He spoke quietly, his brows knit into a V. “I will talk to him. No punching.” _

_“Good. You may only be suspended for now, but who knows. The next time, you might be expelled.”_

_ Travis stared blankly at the glove compartment in front of him. He had been expelled before. They’ve had to move a few times because of him, though his father hadn’t complained about it. His work went with him, and he was giving his son all of the chances he needed. Really, it was more than he deserved. _

_ Use your words, he would tell him. If only he learned. _

_ His father’s voice is softer when it comes out next. “When we get home, would you like me to make some schnitzel?” _

_ Travis would later deny the way he immediately brightened in response when his dad teased him about it. _

The schnitzel is just as his father used to prepare it. He chews and swallows, not feeling the same as he once did. Back then, it was warm and inviting. They would sit down around the kitchen counter and eat in a comforting silence. His father used to smile whenever he watched Travis eat. There had to be such joy on his own face, for his father to match it.

Now, it’s bland. It’s made exactly the same, but it’s missing the one thing that would make it home. 

Travis aches. He learned how to cook thanks to his father. He was lucky enough to find a stack of his recipes in one of the boxes that was left to him of his father’s possessions. Maybe they had once belonged to his grandparents—the paper was old and yellow and smelled of poultice, the graphite faded with time, and the corners bent.

If only he had someone to share them with. If only he could. If only he wasn’t so self-isolating, maybe then he would be able to enjoy the taste of his father’s cooking again.

He hopes that one day, someone else will as well.


	6. Mutual Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis returns home and questions what Vité wants from their “relationship”. Vité wants to see him again. They meet in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you know I had to write smut after a dump of fluff...  
> TW: Masturbation (for both), Blowjobs, Vité jumps him without a lot of explanation

Travis has had a very tiring day. 

To start it off, a woman blew up in his face about something he can’t be bothered to remember. Maybe she was complaining about the quality of the drinks at the bar, or how much they cost. It was so insignificant of a complaint that Travis had yawned in her face and made her angrier. She created a scene and had to be escorted out (Bruiser did this, as he is the nicer of the two). He and Bruiser had to boot out a group of men who were harassing the staff—grabbing their tails and calling them derogatory names. One of the group members had to be restrained for starting a fight after breaking a glass bottle open on one of the tables. Thankfully no one was hurt, but it was enough work to wrestle them out on their asses that Travis’s back screamed at him for the rest of his shift.

So, _fick die welt_. Hail bloody mary.

Travis sheds his suit jacket and lays it over the sofa. His back is tight, crying for relief. He unbuttons his shirt halfway and slumps back against the plush furniture with a drawn out sigh. The ceiling looms above him, and the bull stares at a water stain his landlord has yet to investigate. He frowns.

The funny thing is, even after everything that happened today, he still only has one thing on his mind. He’s not even surprised anymore, he’s resigned to how much his brain loves replaying their interactions. The ungodly amount of time he’s daydreamed about Vité is pitiful at best and unsound at worst.

How well did he know Vité really? They’ve known each other for a handful of months, not counting the time Travis avoided him. Travis attended his appointments with disdain, but Vité—no matter how smug or chatty he was—would always stop making small talk during the massage. He would allow Travis to drop his inhibitions and just relax. Sure, Travis has interacted with him outside of the massages (not including “the incidents”, he mentally delegated them), but how much did he truly know about the man? Vité rarely talks about himself and almost always keeps the conversations centered around Travis. Rarely, whenever Travis retaliated with a question back, Vité would distinctly brush him off.

Yet a better question: what are they? Neither him nor Vité ever explicitly bring it up. Vité, Travis would have thought, would have voiced clear boundaries as well as what this meant for them. However, that hasn’t happened, and Travis doesn’t trust himself to address it correctly, let alone coherently. 

He admits to himself that yes, he is protective of Vité and overly jealous. It isn’t something he likes to admit to himself, but Vité lets him act that way. Like it isn’t a problem. It is obviously unhealthy behavior, but Vité encourages it. All of the bruises he left… Travis shudders. Vité allowed him to do that—loved it, even. Travis doesn’t understand why. Travis despises himself for losing control and letting the weasel’s words get to him so easily; he beats himself up for it. 

But Vité had no qualms to voice. 

He recalls Vité asking him to turn him onto his stomach so he could leave more bites on his back. And the piercing, _mein gott_ . He was angry at first over the information, over how many people had touched Vité, hurt him, Vité actively trusting them to _let_ them hurt him. But now...

Travis wonders how Vité appears with all of his piercings in place. How handsome he’d look, the metal in his skin glinting like stars in the light, his eyes open and waiting, anticipatory. Soon it’s all he can imagine, shoving against the forefront of his mind. The tongue bauble was torture enough, feeling the smooth metal inbetween his fingers, against his own tongue. Vité had to have recognized how Travis would react. He suspects Vité wore that piercing entirely on purpose to infuriate him. Travis licks over the front of his teeth. Vité obviously has much more that Travis is unaware of. _“Do you want to know how many other piercings I have?”_ Vité had said, knowing, _knowing_. Does he have piercings on his ears? His nose? His stomach? His… 

Travis puffs a violent snort through his nose. This isn’t helping him relax at all. Eyes heavy, Travis rests for a moment, and all he can see is the faint image of mischievous brown eyes, wanton and challenging. Shit, you’d think his brain would give him a break after today, but he guesses he’s not that lucky. 

To get his mind off of the menace, Travis rises to his feet. He searches out the glass cabinet where he stores all of his alcohol and retrieves a bottle of vodka, then pours himself a shot with an idle shot glass that had been previously sitting next to it. He downs it, thinks about sharp teeth and sharper words, then swallows two more. Travis chokes out a long suffering sigh and switches on an old radio on a nearby side table. Soft violins begin to filter through the apartment. The bass of the cello thrums against his fingers when he drags them across the divotted speaker, vibrating through the bones in his fingers up to his wrist. It’s a beautiful piece. Travis’s forehead hits the wooden shelf in front of him. 

He doesn’t know what to think or how to sort through this.

Travis has never been able to understand what he actually feels. His emotions flash through him all at once, uncontrolled, bursting out of his mouth or through his fists against someone’s jaw. They are difficult to stifle even when he is alone, listening to one of his favorite genres. If it was hard for him before, it is nearly impossible now. The vodka starts to hit halfway into the song, and Travis’s head swims with nothing but the thought of Vité, Vité, Vité. The weasel tortures him even when he’s not around. Travis barks out a frustrated laugh. Fuck.

His drunken mind conjures the exact moment Vité had begged him to fuck him in that cracked, pitiful voice of his. Travis’s horns almost smash through the shelf, though his furniture is thankfully saved when he forces himself to step back and stumble over to the couch again. His taut back slams onto the plush fabric, and his hand rakes into his hair. He can’t force himself to stop thinking about him, can he? Travis grits his teeth and stares up helplessly at nothing. All he can hear is Vité’s comebacks, Vité’s laugh, Vité’s whines. Why did he think drinking was a good idea? 

The song on the radio changes to another tune, but honestly Travis can barely hear it over his own thoughts. Suddenly he’s overcome with scenarios that don’t even exist—Vité riding him (his hands on his chest), Vité touching himself in front of him (flushed but determined), Vité with his dick in his mouth (looking up, knuckles white against his hips)—Travis rumbles out a low groan and brushes his hand down his stomach toward his waistband, on their way to his already hardening cock. 

This is an absolutely terrible idea. 

Travis reaches into his boxers anyway. 

His own touch brings a hiss to his lips. He is hot, almost burning against his own hand. Travis is shocked at the magnitude of it. How much he wants. It’s unbearable. He’s never wanted this much from anybody. Ever. All of it, every thought, has been ripped out of him. Vité took his claws and buried them in his chest, around his heart, grasping it, leaving him more vulnerable than he’s ever wanted to be. He was doused in oil and set aflame by a match Vité lit and threw with an unapologetic smile on his face. He never stood a fucking chance.

He grunts and gnaws the inside of his cheek when his hand tunnels around himself. 

No. No, fuck, he doesn’t deserve this pleasure. It’s wrong to get off on Vité without him present. 

_“But I’m right here.”_

Travis startles at how accurate his mind’s view of Vité is. His voice lilts softly, lustful, and his brown eyes stare him down from behind the couch. Imaginary Vité is leaning his head in his arms on the back of the couch, taking in the sight of Travis greedily.

_“There’s no need to hold back. I’d love to watch you.”_

The bull paused in his ministrations, fuzzily attempting to realize he’s manifested a fucking mirage. How pitiful he is. He loosens his hand from his dick.

 _“Come on. Would it help if I fed you ideas?”_ Fake Vité purrs, and Travis loses his mind just a little bit more.

“Leave me alone.” Travis begs, his voice cracking to his utmost dismay.

_“That’s no way to talk to your love.”_

“Stop. Please.” He slurs, denying his situation. It’s the cruelest lie. The lie that Vité could love him, does love him. Even if it were true, how would that be a good thing? Travis is not a good man. He’s known this for however many years he’s been alive.

_“So mean. That’s how I really feel, you know?”_

“ **Enough!** ” He yells, and the apartment goes quiet, apart from the music playing softly from the radio.

Travis stews in his lust and frustration and denial and hate until he decides to detach from the world and just rest. He doesn’t even change out of his pants. He shuts his eyes and forces himself to drift away.

The cellos fade. Fake Vité doesn’t return.

  
  


___

  
  


This is ridiculous.

Vité understands it has been a long while since he has had a “partner”. But never, not in his entire life, has he ever had a massive libido. Sex used to be the last thing on his mind. Vité didn’t think he was capable to entertain the idea of having sex with one of his customers, let alone with someone he’s just barely touched the surface of.

Vité thought himself introverted at best, not someone who would enjoy getting manhandled and bit into like he was the last deviled egg at a cocktail party. But somehow, it was unexpectedly nice to be proven wrong. Travis unintentionally helped him discover a lot of things about himself. Things he wouldn’t have thought twice about half a year ago.

That’s why it’s so strange when he suddenly gets the urge to touch himself after he’s dumped innocuously onto his bed, scrubbed clean of incense and oil after a warm shower. 

He languidly glides his hand across his damp chest, down towards his stomach, and closes his eyes. Usually when Vité did this (rarely, mind you), he would get it over with as fast as possible. It was just an urge, something to get rid of. However, the thought of Travis watching him as he does so abruptly makes his fur stand on end. Travis would want him to go slow, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t let things end so quickly. Vité’s fingers catch on his ribs as he moves them back up towards his right nipple, ruffling the fur on the way. He normally doesn’t feel much there, so he’s never found himself searching it out when chasing his pleasure. 

He recalls Travis mouthing him there. How that felt… Vité gets lost in the memory, finding himself slowly thumbing it while his other hand reaches his thigh. A sigh escapes him when his mind offers the image of Travis sitting in front of him, his brown eyes taking in everything he’s doing, entranced.

 _“..._ Was _? Keep going.”_

Vité’s breath hitches.

The imaginary baritone voice is easy enough to conjure—he’s fantasized enough about Travis to have it memorized. Not only that, but the way he’d look at him as if he wanted to tear him to shreds. The way he responded to touch. How big his hands were as they engulfed his wrists. His body, his thoughts, his eyes. Is that creepy? Probably. Vité doesn’t think too hard about it.

Instead, he grips the flesh of his inner thigh and encircles his nipple. Both of his legs turn lax, instinctually opening a little wider. His breath leaves him in calm waves when he lets himself just feel. It’s comfortable. Exposed. The desire for Travis to actually see him like this is unbearable.

 _“You are doing well,_ schatz _. Can you pinch yourself for me?”_

Vité nods mutely, his vision black as he pinches his nipple. A noise escapes his chest, one that sounds so small and vulnerable he would actually blush in Travis’s presence. His tail curls around his leg in an effort to soothe himself. Imaginary Travis chuckles in a guttural tone.

_“Don’t deprive the other side. Slowly, now.”_

His left hand rakes up his chest towards his deformed scar. There’s no nipple there, so he presses the pads of his fingers against the vertical length of it, running along the crease of where the healed skin met fur. He can imagine Travis humming in response, pleased to have been listened to. 

_“Very good.”_

Pleasure licks up his spine.

Vité wonders if Travis would be hard, watching him like this. His pants would have a strain to it, but he’d leave it untouched, just like the first time they were intimate. Vité likes to think that Travis cared more about Vité’s pleasure than his own at the time. Though now that it is on his mind… maybe he has always been that way. Travis wrung out four orgasms from him last they were together, and he’d only come once. The evidence is only a few fleeting instances, but it is enough. Christ is it enough.

Vité wants Travis to touch himself to the sight of him. Desperately.

The image of that is hard to escape once he’s thought of it. Travis’s hand on his own dick, stroking slowly, savoring it, eyes unblinking but half lidded as he drinks in Vité’s expression. Travis does love staring at his face, he’s noticed. It doesn’t matter why, Vité convinces himself, but it still leaves him feeling emotionally naked under Travis’s gaze. Maybe he would stare back, then. Observe him. He’s never really gotten a good chance to do that yet. He hopes Travis writhes when he touches himself. Does he? Would Travis let Vité touch him if he asks?

His tongue sweeps his lower lip as his fantasies overwhelm him. Travis has made him feel so good, so good, he needs to do the same. He wants to. 

The sound Travis made when he came never left his head. 

It’s burned into his subconscious. He wants to hear Travis unravel more. More… 

_“You are wonderful,_ liebling _. So perfect.”_

Vité’s gasp cuts off into a groan when he realizes his fingers have pressed into himself while he was fantasizing. 

It doesn’t take long. The image of Travis doling out praises like candy and pleasuring himself to the sight of Vité has him gone in under ten minutes. Vité jackknifes and bites almost clean through his bottom lip. When it’s over, the fake Travis is gone. Just him in an empty room. 

Vité stares up blankly at nothing. His body shakes from the aftershocks of his release as he takes in every breath like it will be his last. 

This is out of control.

He has to see Travis right fucking now or he’s going to go insane.

Vité sits up quickly, still lightheaded and weak, and cleans himself up. He grabs clothes from his drawers at random and throws them on like he’s late for an important presentation. Vité sticks his feet into his shoes so violently he thinks he might have scraped his heels, but he continues on and grabs his phone before he’s hurrying out the door.

___

  
  


The doorbell suddenly blares, giving Travis a wake-up call and a mini heart attack. He snaps upward, thankfully more sober, and realizes his pants are still halfway down his legs. He pulls them up and wipes his hand quickly on the back of them (noting to himself that maybe he should change pants), and walks towards the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to the radio still producing music. Looking through the peephole, Travis chokes on his inhale of surprise, realizing who’s on the other side.

It’s Vité, of course. Who else would ring his fucking doorbell at 12:34am?

He situates himself a bit more before swinging the door open. Travis is about to ask what the hell he wants in the middle of the night, but Vité’s expression stops him cold.

Vité is staring at him wide-eyed like he’ll disappear if he blinks. Travis’s teeth click when he snaps his own mouth shut. Vité seems to break out of whatever stupor he’s in and pushes Travis inside. Travis is about to protest, but after Vité turns the lock, Vité crashes into Travis with full force, pressing him against the side wall and crushing their mouths together. Travis responds with a startled noise and instinctively latches onto Vité’s hips to keep them both grounded. The weasel’s tail lashes behind him as he grabs Travis’s horn and opens his mouth further, desperate for any sort of contact.

Travis finally catches up to what’s happening, and his grip tightens on Vité as he breaks from the kiss, disheveled. Vité whines from the loss, leaning forward again, but Travis reaches a hand up to run it over Vité’s face upward and down to the back of his neck. 

“ _Liebe_ ,” Vité shivers in Travis’s hold, and Travis swallows, “what is wrong?”

“I want to touch you,” Vité rasps, “I need to... just—“ Vité’s hands travel down from Travis’s shoulders to his stomach, laying flat to feel as much skin as possible through his shirt. Travis is speechless from shock, his fingers digging into Vité’s nape and hip as he watches Vité’s hands reach the waistband of his jeans. “Please. Please let me.”

“Vité,” and Vité gasps at his own name, drawing closer and weakly biting Travis’s collarbone, and Travis inhales sharply, “ _schatz_ , you have to tell me what this is about.”

Vité’s teeth scrape up to Travis’s neck when he uses the tips of his toes to get closer. He drinks in Travis like he’s an oasis in a desert, holding onto his sides and licking at his pulse point. Travis’s hips betray him when they instinctively push into Vité’s hold, and Vité groans softly in response, heated and muffled into his neck. Vité catches his breath and whispers. “Do you know I don’t usually touch myself?”

 _Usually._ Travis actually chokes on air, his hands trembling against Vité. “You...?”

“Yeah,” Vité laughs breathily, “I did.” He leans up more to take Travis’s ear into his mouth. “Thinking of you.”

How ironic. That sends a spark of pleasure straight to his dick. Travis short circuits, but is somehow able to keep his voice calm. “Did you come here to...” He stammers. “ _Was_ —What do you need?”

“You,” Vité starts, nibbling his jaw, “I want to make you feel good for once.”

Travis can’t really say anything to that. He didn’t think Vité would be interested.

Vité’s thumbs tuck under Travis’s boxers. “Will you let me?”

The bull opens and closes his mouth quietly a few times like a fish, before settling on a quiet “yes”. 

“Can I kiss you?” Vité asks, and Travis holds back a scoff. He could have asked that earlier. Vité’s open expression stops him from being sarcastic, though. His brown eyes glimmer under the muted light of Travis’s small apartment, open and waiting.

“...Yes. Yes, _liebling_. You may.”

Vité looks relieved, then kisses him. Softer than earlier, but still deep with an unsaid feeling behind it. God, Vité smells so good. Travis leans into it this time, wrapping his arms around Vité’s back and stroking his shoulder blades. Vité gratefully mumbles something inaudible into Travis’s mouth and pulls Travis’s pants lower down his hips. Vité pauses when Travis’s grip tightens again on Vité’s sides. 

“ _Ich_...” Travis stumbles over words of warning he wants to say, but nothing comes out. Vité gives a questioning glance upward, and Travis’s cheeks are glowing with color. Travis’s ears are numb—his limbs are buzzing like they’re full of heated static, and Vité’s eyes widen at the sight. He looks down and realizes why Travis hesitated. 

“You were—“ Vité croaks, his observation trailing off in surprise. His mouth turns dry at the sight of Travis, messy in his unbuttoned pants. 

“Your fault,” Travis murmurs, brows knitted. 

“Mine?”

Travis nods and releases a strangled groan when Vité abruptly palms him. It’s Vité’s turn to pin him now. He shoves Travis back to his couch with uncoordinated open mouthed kisses and straddles him when Travis’s legs are too weak to support both of their weight. Vité’s claws dig tight into one of Travis’s wrists, holding it down while his other hand never leaves Travis’s groin, kneading him. Travis grits his teeth when his throat works around a growl. 

“You were thinking of me?” Vité’s voice is low, slurred.

Travis grunts at another grind of Vité’s hand. “ _Ja,_ who _else?_ ” He says irritably, keeping his other hand busy by gripping the side of the couch. 

Vité shakes his head and chuckles, pressing his forehead to Travis’s chest. “I don’t know. The pope?”

“Not a time to be joking, _mein süße._ ” Travis grates, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s holding the fabric. 

“Of course.” Vité breathes, tugging down Travis’s pants until he’s sprung free. “You’re right.”

Vité’s touch is persistent but soft. His thumb presses under the head of Travis’s dick, and Travis jolts under the light weight of Vité’s thighs. Travis is already slick from his own earlier menstruations, and Vité completely uses that to his advantage. He rewards Travis with a pressured pump of his hand, keeping ahold of the bull’s wrist when he feels the muscle flex under his fingertips. Travis hides his expression with his hand, his mouth hung open as Vité really starts to pleasure him. 

Travis pants and grits his teeth to keep from becoming too loud. Vité releases his hold on Travis’s wrist and places his hand on his shoulder, holding him down so that he can lean in and kiss Travis’s jaw. 

“Travis.” The weasel husks. “Are you going to be quiet the whole time?”

Travis pulls in another sharp exhale as Vité starts to twist his hand with it, slick sounds flooding the silent air. “ _Ich_ ... I have _neighbors_ ,” he snaps, and Vité grins against his neck, he can feel it. “T—Thin walls.”

Vité hums and grips Travis’s dick tightly for a moment. Travis’s guttural response is worth it. “You might want to bite something, then.” 

Travis releases a questioning sound before peeking out of his makeshift blindfold. Vité bites his neck once, just to tease, then traces his snout down his chest to his navel. 

Oh. Oh _fuck_. 

“Vité—“ he quickly whispers out when Vité’s lips meet just above where he’d lose it. 

“Here.” He says, voice low as he takes the end of Travis’s shirt and glides it up his chest towards his neck. He bunches the fabric and holds it in front of the bull’s mouth. “For the neighbors.”

Travis hesitates. He can see the humor in Vité’s eyes, but more than that, the desperate lust from earlier lingering. He takes his shirt and tucks it into his mouth obediently.

Vité’s eyes darken. “There you go.”

Travis sucks in a sharp breath through his nose when Vité’s tongue touches him for the first time. The worst part of it? He’s wearing his _fucking piercing_. 

Vité purrs out a small chuckle. “I knew you might like it,” he says, pleased at Travis’s visible reaction. It’s not like he can hide it, his dick is a dog whistle for this shit. It jumps when Vité licks him with the flat of his tongue a second time, as if trying to get closer to the wet pleasure of Vité’s mouth. Vité places his lips on the tip of his cock and looks up at Travis.

Those cinnamon eyes. His dick can’t help but throb. 

The weasel grins, then grips Travis’s hips with both hands, and that’s how Travis knows what’s coming next. He bites down harshly on the fabric of his shirt just as Vité takes him into his mouth, slowly coming to halfway down his length. Travis breathes in deeply through his nose and releases a muffled moan when Vité hums around him. Vité languidly bobs up, down, up... Vité pops off after Travis reacts a second time with a smothered noise of pleasure. He blows through his lips, and Travis bristles as the cold air against his spit-covered shaft sends tremors through his legs.

“I’ve wanted to hear you moan for a while,” Vité unabashedly admits, “it’s a shame you have to be quiet...” Vité has a gleam in his eye.

Oh god no. 

Travis gnaws on his shirt and throws his head back against one of the hand rests of the couch when Vité takes him back into the warm, blessed heat. Generously, the weasel wraps his hand around the rest of Travis’s length and strokes him in time with his mouth. It’s like nothing Travis has ever felt before. Vité’s piercing presses against his tip on the way up, and it’s all Travis can do to not rip up his own couch cushions with how hard he’s holding them. 

Vité’s pleasuring him because he wants to. Travis didn’t ask. He just wants to. That’s...

A moan is stifled by his gag, and Vité’s tail curls around one of Travis’s legs as if to say _yes._ Vité, with his free hand, strokes the inside of Travis’s thigh and tightens its hold when it needs to. Travis’s struggles to catch his breath as he notices Vité’s ears twitching, going forward and back, like he craves to hear Travis but is also getting lost in what he’s doing. Vité’s eyes close when he abruptly deep throats him, leaving Travis hard-strapped to not thrust into the tight heat that is Vité’s mouth. Travis’s body betrays him, releasing the loudest sound he’s yet to make when Vité swallows around him and holds Travis in his throat.

When Vité pulls up to catch some air, Travis huffs sharply as his hips follow Vité’s direction. Again, the weasel laughs gently at the display, out of breath. Vité rests his cheek on Travis’s thigh and leaves a mark there. Then another, then two more... Shocked at how much Vité marking him riles him up, the bull focuses on attempting to control his racing heart. 

Brown eyes gaze up at him again, sharp teeth slightly poking out of his mouth in amusement. “Travis.” He says, his voice lower than Travis has ever heard. “I could leave so many more, but I think I’ll wait.”

Travis flinches, his cheeks flaming. He’s already looking forward to it too much. An answering weak grunt gets muffled into the shirt, and Vité’s smile curls wider.

“Now.” Vité murmurs, mouthing one of the veins on Travis’s dick. “You can use me.”

Taking him into his mouth again, Vité‘s hand grips Travis’s ass, encouraging him to move when he takes him deeper, and Travis can’t hold back. A tremor races up his spine when he lifts his hips into it, his hooves digging holes into his couch, and Vité moans for the first time in the duration they’ve been doing this. The vibrations leave him shivering, and Travis delivers. He bucks forward into Vité’s waiting maw, and Vité rewards him unintentionally with another sound of pleasure. His vision goes blurry, unfocused. He’s sweating out of his skin, the heat building in him burning him inside out.

Travis is in heaven. Hell? It’s all the same.

His hips don’t stop as Vité urges them into a faster pace. It’s a mantra between the two: Travis’s gasps and moans are met with Vité’s sounds of appreciation. Vité hollows his cheeks and Travis _hisses_ . The vulgar sounds in the air of slick suction—it’s maddening. It’s perfect. His mind is lost in the haze of pleasure, rising, higher, more... His thoughts scatter. Vité’s doing such a good job. He wants to tell him. He wants to praise him so badly. He needs to. He needs to. _He needs to._ Travis opens his eyes with great effort and realizes Vité is already watching him with an intense interest, greedily taking in every reaction Travis hands him. _God._ He wants to fuck Vité into the fucking ground. Vité would love it; he did before. The way Vité writhed was so gorgeous. So beautiful. So, so...

Vité’s teeth scrape against him, and Travis is gone. He snaps his hips up and he feels Vité’s claws dig into the flesh of his ass. Vité is keeping a tight hold on him, but it’s loose enough so Travis can fuck his face without an issue. It is so fucking good, he thinks he’s biting the shirt so hard he’s grinding his teeth. If Vité has a gag reflex, it isn’t making itself known, he takes it with ease and makes damn sure to swirl his tongue. Travis stops worrying about it when Vité leans in hungrily with every thrust, like he can’t get enough.

Vité’s piercing glides against the underside of his cock. One. Two. Three times, right in that perfect spot, then dips into the slit. He abruptly grabs the back of Vité’s head and thrusts sharply as deep as he can and holds him in place. Travis’s shirt falls out of his mouth when he moans so roughly he sounds like he’s in pain as he comes. Vité swallows him down dutifully, reaching up to keep a tight supportive hold on Travis’s hand while he spends himself. He convulses and his hips judder a few moments longer before Travis collapses backwards.

He heaves, his vision black as he slowly comes back to himself. The first thing he senses is Vité, touching the marks he had left on Travis’s thighs. Travis mumbles quietly and quivers, opening his legs a bit more so Vité can have more access. A soft answering noise follows as Vité glides his palm over his leg and kisses those marks. Vité’s tail has released its death grip on Travis’s leg and is now just stroking patterns down his calf to his ankle. 

It’s been a few minutes, he thinks, before Vité speaks in a raspy tone. “The neighbors definitely heard that.”

Travis groans in despair, unwilling to put any effort into speaking, and Vité laughs. Vité stands to get something. Travis can’t think of what, at the moment. He doesn’t have to ponder for long though, because Vité comes back with a warm wet rag and a towel. He takes off Travis’s shirt then wipes him down, cleaning him, and Travis thinks back to Vité’s massages—how experienced he is at taking care of others. He’s too good for him.

After he’s done, Vité lays on top of Travis and snuggles in close. Travis can’t complain. It’s nice, especially since Vité keeps finding new ways to comfort him. His hands rub into Travis’s sides, up to his shoulders, and suddenly Vité’s hands are framing his face. Travis cracks an eye open to see Vité staring at him with a profound adoration. It’s enough to leave Travis’s head spinning.

Vité kisses him once, deep, with meaning, and pulls back just as Travis starts to recuperate. “You were imagining me.”

Travis already regrets giving him time to voice something. “You were imagining me, too.” He bites weakly, embarrassed and tapped out. 

The gleam is back. Vité cocks his head. “Maybe next time, you could tell me what you were fantasizing?”

Travis chokes. 

This weasel is definitely going to kill him one day.


End file.
